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; THE
Vicar of Wakefield
A TALE
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
By OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Sperate viiseri, cavete felices
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NEW YORK
PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON
Catttiirttiffe: Cbe Ettemtie Press
1876
71? 5^^^
COPYEIGHT, 1876,
By HTRD and HOUGHTON.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEROTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H, 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION.
There are a hundred faults in this thing, and a

hundred things anight he said to prove them beauties.
But it is needless. A hook may he amusing with nu-
merous errors, or it may he dull without a single ab-
surdity. The hero of this piece unites in himself the
three greatest characters upon earth : he is a priest, a
husbandman, and the father of a family. He is
drawn as ready to teach, and ready to obey ; as simple

in affluence, and majestic in adversity. In this age
of opulence and refinement, whom can such a charac-

ter please ? Such as are fond of high life, will turn
with disdain from the simplicity of his country fire-

side. Such as mistake ribaldry for humor, loill find
no wit in his harmless conversation ; and such as
have been taught to deride religion, will laugh at one
whose chief stores of comfort are drawn from futurity.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
I
I
OOISTTEE'TS.
INTRODUCTION. page
Oliver Goldsmith and the Vicar of Wakefield vii
CHAPTER I.
The Description of the Family of Wakefield, in which a Kin-

dred Likeness prevails, as well of Minds as of Persons . . 1
CHAPTER II.
Family Misfortunes. — The Loss of Fortune only serves to in-

crease the Pride of the Worthy 7
CHAPTER III.
A Migration. — The Fortunate Circumstances of our Lives are

generally found at last to be of our own procuring ... 13
CHAPTER IV.
A Proof that even the Humblest Fortune may grant Happi-

ness, which depends not on Circumstances, but Constitution, 23
CHAPTER V.
A New and Great Acquaintance introduced. —

What we place
most Hopes upon generally proves most fatal 28
CHAPTER VL
The Happiness of a Country Fireside 34
IV CONTENTS.
CHAPTER Yll. PAGE
A Town Wit described. — The Dullest Fellows may learn to

be comical for a Night or two , . 39
CHAPTER Vin.
An Amour, which promises little Good Fortune, yet may be

productive of much 45
CHAPTER IX.
Two Ladies of Great Distinction introduced. — Superior Finery

ever seems to confer Superior Breeding 55
CHAPTER X.
The Family endeavors to cope with their Betters. —The Mis-

eries of the Poor when they attempt to appear above their
Circumstances 60
CHAPTER XL
The Family still resolve to hold up their Heads 66
CHAPTER Xn.
Fortune seems resolved to humble the Family of Wakefield.
—
Mortifications are often more painful than Real Calamities, 73
CHAPTER XHL
Mr. Burchell is found to be an Enemy; for he has the Confi-
dence to give Disagreeable Advice 80
CHAPTER XIV.
Fresh Mortifications, or a Demonstration that Seeming Calam-

ities may be Real Blessings 85
CHAPTER XV.
All BIr. Burchell's Villainy at once detected. — The Folly of
being over-wise 93
CONTENTS. V
CHAPTER XVI. PAGE
The Family use Art, which is opposed with still greater . . 100
CHAPTER XVII.
Scarcely any Virtue found to resist the Power of Long and

Pleasing Temptation 108
CHAPTER XVni.
The Pursuit of a Father to reclaim a Lost Child to Virtue . . 119
CHAPTER XIX.
The Description of a Person discontented with the Present
Government, and apprehensive of the Loss of our Liberties, 125
CHAPTER XX.
The History of a Philosophic Vagabond, pursuing Novelty,
but losing Content 136
CHAPTER XXI.
The Short Continuance of Friendship among the Vicious,
which is coeval only with Mutual Satisfaction 156
CHAPTER XXII.
Offences are easily pardoned where there is Love at Bottom, 167
CHAPTER XXIII.
None but the Guiltj'- can be long and completely miserable . 173
CHAPTER XXIV.
Fresh Calamities 179
CHAPTER XXV.
No Situation, however wretched it seems, but has some Sort
of Comfort attending it 186
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXVI. page
A Reformation in the Jail. — To make Laws complete, they

should reward as well as punish 192
CHAPTER XXVir.
The same Subject continued 199
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Happiness and Misery Result of Prudence than of
i-ather the
Virtue in this Life Temporal Evils or Felicities being re-
;
garded by Heaven as Things merely in themselves trifling

and unworthy its Care in the Distribution 205
CHAPTER XXIX.
The Equal Dealings of Providence demonstrated with regard
to the Happy and the Miserable here below. —
That from
the Nature of Pleasure and Pain, the Wretched must be re-
paid the Balance of their Sufferings in the Life hereafter . 219
CHAPTER XXX.
Happier Prospects begin to appear. —
Let us be inflexible, and
Fortune will at last change in our favor 225
CHAPTER XXXI.
Former Benevolence now repaid with Unexpected Interest . 236
CHAPTER XXXII.
The Conclusion 256
OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
To sit down to a classic, even in one's own lan-

guage, means for most people to undertake a task.
There is a certain ordering of the mind which seems
requisite, as when one dresses to pay a visit to an
eminent and instructive person. There are few who
can pass easily from their common thoughts into the
presence of one of the masters of literature, and so
acquainted are we with this attitude of mind toward
the classics, that we are led to make a test of the
genuineness of a great work, that we should not ap-
proach it too familiarly. It is of ordinary readers
that I speak mind trained upon a severe regi-

; the
men of the best literature moves easily amongst great
men. But these distinctions surely disappear when
one takes up the Vicar of Wakefield. This book,
answering all the definitions of a classic, has in it a
personal charm, a certain exquisite undress of manner
which invites readers without requiring of them a
VIU OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
formal approach, and surprises the most modern-fed

mind by its perennial freshness. Perhaps it is the
property of genuine humor to be always human, and
certainly Goldsmith in the Vicar of Wakefield pleases
us not by an archaic quaintness, but by a • certain
simplicity of nature, a sympathy with ever-recurring
modes of thought, so that it is easy to believe that his
manner will be scarcely more remote from the famil-
iar manner of writers and readers a hundred years
hence than it is now. lYe are accustomed to think
of the period in which he wrote as one of formality,

and the literature as dealing in sounding phrases and
measured tones. The Club and the Coffee House
are its foci, and the leaders of literature, even when
driven contemptuously from their proper social posi-
tion, seem to carry themselves at a certain elevation
above ordinary affairs ; dress marks the gentleman,
and the common features of humanity seem carefully
covered even by those who, as men of letters, are the
priests of humanity. The popular feeling regarding
the period is measurably just, and it is because the
wayward Goldsmith was perpetually at odds with the
company in which he lived, while perpetually eager
to bring himself under the same social laws, that he
is easily singled from the rest and his impressible
nature seen to have a finer sympathy with the ever-
varying, ever-constant flux of human life. In Gold-
smith's career may be read some of the indications of
his peculiar place in literature.
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. IX
Oliver Goldsmith, the son of a humble village

preacher was born at the parsonage in Pallas, the
property of the Edge worths of Edgeworthstown in
the county of Longford, Ireland, November 10, 1728.
He died in London, wept over by Johnson, Burke,
Reynolds and Garrick, April 4, 1774, five months
over his forty-fifth year. Between the obscure Irish
village birtli-place and the monument in Westminster
Abbey stretched a career which was half in clouds
and half in sunshine, a rainbow of tears and smiles.
He had no advantages of birth other than the price-

less one of a simple-hearted father, " passing rich with
forty pounds a year," who lives again in tlie preacher
of the " Deserted Village " and more minutely in the

hero of the " Vicar of Wakefield." His life to out-
ward seeming was a series of blunders. He was tossed
about from one school to another, learning many
things which somehow seem more in his life than
Latin or Greek. He learned to play the flute, and he
fell in him
love with vagrancy, or rather the vagrant in
was carefully nourished by an unworldly, unsophisti-
cated father, a merry-andrew of a teacher, and by
fickle Fortune herself. An uncle, the Rev. Mr. Con-
tarine, was the prudent man of the family, always ap-
pearing as the necessary counterpoise to prevent Oliver
from flying off into irrecoverable wandering. By his
advice and help the lad passed from his schools to
Trinity College, Dublin, perhaps a needful discipline,
but certainly a harsh one, for there where one might
X OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
look for genial surroundings to one afterward to be-

come a master in literature, the luckless youth was to
find new trials to his sensitive spirit and to have his
compensation in pleasures quite unprovided in the col-
lege scheme. His poverty compelled him to take a
menial position, he had a brutal tutor, and after he

had been a year and a half at college his father died,
leaving him in still more abject poverty than before.
He wrote street ballads to save himself from actual
starvation, and sold them for five shillings apiece. In
all this murky gloom the lights that twinkle are
the secret joy with which the poor poet would steal
out at night to hear his ballads sung, and the quick
rush of feeling in which he would use his five shillings
upon some forlorn beggar, whose misery made him

forget his own. Once he ran away from college,
stung by some sharper insult from his tutor, but he
returned to take his degree, and at the end of three
years, carrying away some scraps of learning, he re-
turned to his mother's house.
There for two years he led an aimless, happy life,
waiting for the necessary age at which he could

qualify for orders in the church. He had few wants,
and gayly shared the little family's small stock of pro-
vision and joint labors, teaching in the village school,
fishing, strolling, flute-playing and dancing. They
were two years that made his Irish home always
green in his memory, a spot almost dazzling for
brightness when he looked back on it from the hard-
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. XI
ships of his London life. When the two years were

passed he applied to the Bishop for orders, but was
rejected for various reasons according to various au-
thorities, but the most sufficient one in any case was
his own unwillingness to take the step urged upon
him by friends. He was sent by his uncle to begin
the study of law, but the fifty pounds with which he

was furnished were lost at play, and the vagabond re-
turned forgiven to his uncle's house. He had visions

of coming to America which fortunately never passed
into waking resolution, for I fear there would have
been small likelihood of his blossoming into literature
on this side of the water in the days of ante-revolu-
tionary flatness.
Medicine was the next resort, and Goldsmith was
sent by his uncle to Edinburgh. Although the title
of doctor has become familiarly connected with his
name, it is very certain that he did not acquire the
degree in Edinburgh, but afterward in a foreign
university upon one of his wanderings. Few tradi-
tions remain of his life at Edinburgh ; three or four

amusing letters were written thence, but the impres-
sion made by them and by such gossip as survives is
that he was an inimitable teller of humorous stories

and a capital singer of Irish songs. His profession
of medicine, however, gave a show of consistency to
his purpose of travel on the continent where he per-
suaded himself and his friends that he should qualify
himself for his professional degree. In point of fact
Xll OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
he spent his time in a happy-go-hickj fashion, wan-

dering from place to place, and singing a so.ng for a
sixpence. The philosophic vagabond in the " Vicar of
Wakefield " is but a transparent mask for Goldsmith's
own features at this time. " I had some knowledge
of music," says that entertaining philosopher, " with a
tolerable voice ; I now turned what was once my
amusement into a present means of subsistence. I
passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and
among such of the French as were poor enough to be
very merry ; for I ever found them sprightly in pro-
portion to their wants. Whenever I approached a
peasant's house towards nightfall, I played one of iny
most merry tunes, and that procured me not only a
lodging, but subsistence for the next day. I once or
twice attempted to play for people of fashion, but they
always thought my performance odious, and never re-
warded me even with a trifle." Although Goldsmith's
medical knowledge was scarcely increased by his con-
tinental experience, he was wittingly or unwittingly
adding daily to that knowledge of men and nature .
which shines through his lightest writings. " The

Traveller " is a distillation of these wanderings.
He returned to England in 1756 after two years of
desultory life on the continent, and landed we are
told without a farthing in his pockets. He lived by
hook and by crook, serving in an apothecary's shop
in a humble capacity, acting as tutor it is said under
a feigned name, and living the while as he afterward
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. XIU
declared, among Then, falling in with an

beggars.
old friend, and getting some little assistance, for
Goldsmith seemed always one of the open-handed^

ready to receive and ready to bestow, he became a
physician in a humble way, struggling for a living in
doctoring those only one degree richer than himself'.
By a curious coincidence, one of his patients was a
printer working under Samuel Richardson, printer,
and what is more, author of " Clarissa." From a

hint given by this man, Goldsmith applied to Rich-
ardson and was given occupation as a proof-reader.
Then, falling in with an old school-fellow whose father
kept a school in Peckham, Goldsmith became an
usher and a miserable time he had of it. " Aye," cries
George Primrose's cousin to him, " this is indeed a
very pretty career that has been checked out for you.
I have been an usher at a boarding-school myself,
and may I die by an anodyne necklace, but I had
rather be an under-turnkey in Newgate. I was up
early and late ; I was brow-beat by the master, hated
for my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the
boys within, and never permitted to stir out to meet
civility abroad. But are you sure you are fit for a
school ? Let me examine you a little. Have you
been bred apprentice to the business ? No. Then
you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys'
hair? No. Then you won't do for a school. Have
you had the small-pox ? No. Then you won't do
for a school. Can you lie three in a bed? No.
XIV OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
Then you will never do for a school. Have you got

a good stomach ? Yes. Then you will by no means
do for a school. No, sir, if you are for a genteel, easy
profession, bind yourself seven years as an apprentice
to turn a cutler's wheel, but avoid a school by any
means." In the same conversation the city cousin
advises George to take u]d authorship for a trade, and
it was indeed by the humblest entrance that Gold-

smith passed into the domain where afterward he
was to be recognized as master. Griffiths, the book-
seller, dined one day at the school where Goldsmith
was usher. The conversation turned upon the
"Monthly Eeview," owned and conducted by Grif-
fifths. Something said by Goldsmith led to further
consideration, and the usher left the school to board
and lodge with the bookseller, to have a small regular
salary, and to devote himself to the " Monthly Re-
view."
The history of literature at this time in England
gives much space necessarily to the bookseller. In
the transition period of authorship, this middleman oc-
cupied a position of power and authority not since ac-
corded to him ; it was a singular relation which the
drudging author held to his employer, and Goldsmith
from this time forward was scarcely ever free from a
dependence upon the autocrats of the book trade.

He entered the profession of literature as upon some-
thing which was a little more profitable and certainly
more agreeable than the occupation of an usher in a

VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. XV
boarding-scliool, or the profession of a doctor without

paying clients. A profession wliich now dignifies its
members, was then without respect, socially, and at-
tended by all the meanness which springs from a false

position. The rich and powerful in government
looked upon it as appointed only to serve the ends of
the ambitious, and the poor author had to struggle to
maintain his independence of nature. The men who
could sell their talents and their self-respect for gold
and place jostled roughly their nobler comrades who
served literature faithfully in poverty, and it was
only now and then that the fickle breath of popular
favor wafted some author's book into warmer waters.
So crowding was this Grub Street life that Goldsmith
sought release from it in a vain attempt after a gov-
ernment appointment as medical ofiicer at Coroman-

del. He was driven back into the galleys from which
he was striving to escape, yet out of this life there
began to issue the true products of his genius. He

brooded over his own and his fellows' condition.
Something within him made protest against the
ignoble state of literature, and he wrote the first
book which gave him a name, " An Enquiry into—

the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe."
The subject was wrung from his fortunes, but the
style was the music which he had never failed
to hear from boyhood. Style, bred of no special

study at Trinity College, nor too closely allied with
learning, but a gift of nature, guarded well and cher-
XVI OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
ished by the varying fortune, which was moulding his

mind in the secret fashion that makes a genuine
surface when discovered : this was seen in his book,
and justified his place in the great profession of
authorship. There is in Goldsmith's life, as in An-
dersen's, and in that of many a man of genius, the sad,
sweet story of the Ugly Duckling. Pecked at, and
scorned by meaner associates, conscious of disadvan-
tages and of inferiority in inferior things, a divine
ray of hope and longing never left him, and when at
length he gave outward expression to the genius in
him, he found himself amongst his true fellows, rec-
ognized by men of genius as their associate. From
this time forward Goldsmith knew his place and
took it. He was thirty-one years of age, and in the
remainder of his life he wrote his essays in " The
Bee," " The Citizen of the World," " The Vicar of
Wakefield," "The Traveller," "The Deserted Vil-
lage," his poems, and the two comedies, " A Good-na-
tured Man," and, " She stoops to conquer." In quan-
tity, not a large showing, but glistening with that
pure fancy and happy temper which are among the
choicest gifts of literature to a tired world. These
are his works which give him his place in literature,
but during the time when they were composed, he
was constantly at work upon tasks. He wrote his
histories of England and Rome and his " Animated
Nature," which despite its unscientific cast, is a store-
house of delightful reading, and he wrote reviews,
VICAR 0F WAKEFIELB. xvil
essays, prefaces, translations and the like quite be-
3ônd record.
Yet all this time he was in debt. He did not want
because his work was ill paid or he was not indus-
trious, but because his money slipped through his
fingers, too volatile to hold it fast. Some of it went
upon his back in the odd finery which has stuck to
his reputation, but a large share went to the poor and
miserable. Look at the poor man lying dead in his
solitary chamber. " The staircase of Birch Court is
said to have been filled with mourners, the reverse of

domestic ; women without a home, without domestic-
ity of any kind, with no friend but him they had
come to weep for, outcasts of that great, solitary,
wicked city, to whom he had never forgotten to be
^
kind and charitable."
There were two sets of people who looked upon

Oliver Goldsmith the poet, and each saw correctly
enough what each was capable of seeing. One saw
in him a shiftless, vain, awkward, homely fellow,
thrusting himself into good company, blundering,
blurting out nonsense or mal a propos sayings, a
gooseberry fool. The other, containing men of
genius, laughed at "poor Goldy," but never failed to
seek his company and to receive him as their equal.
When Burke was told of his death, he burst into
tears. Reynolds was painting when the news was
1 Forster's The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith. II. 467.
: ; :
XVlll OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
brought to him ; he laid his pencil aside and would

not go back that day to his studio, a sign of grief
never shown in times of deep family distress. John-
son never ceased to mourn him, and cast his pro-
foundest conviction of the poet's genius into the mon-
umental lines which form one of the noblest of
elegies.
OLIVARII GOLDSMITH
Poetae, Physici, Historic!,

qui nullum fere scribendi genus
non tetigit,
nullum quod tetigit non ornavit
sive risus essent movendi
sive lacrymae,
affectuum potens, at lenis dominator ;
ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis

oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus:
hoc monumento memoriam coluit
Sodalium amor,
Amicorum fides,
Lectorum veneratio.
Natus Hibemia, Forneite Lonfordiensis
in loco cui nomen Pallas
Nov. XXix. MDCCXXXI.
Eblanae literis institutus
Objit Londini
Apr. iv. MDCCLXxiv.
Englished thus by Mr. Forster.
OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Poet, Naturalist, Historian,
who left scarcely any kind of writing
untouched,
and touched nothing that he did not adorn
whether smiles were to be stirred
or tears,
:;
VICAE OF WAKEFIELD. XIX
commanding our emotions, yet a gentle master :
In genius lofty, lively, versatile,

in style weighty, clear, engaging —
The memory in this monument is cherished
by the love of Companions,
the faithfulness of Friends,
the reverence of Readers.
He was born in Ireland,
at a place called Pallas,
(in the parish) of Forney, (and county) of Longford,
on the 29th Nov. 1731.
Trained in letters at Dublin,
Died in London,
4th April, 1774.
To be the most beloved of English writers," says

"
Thackeray, " what a title that is for a man a wild !
youth, wayward, but full of tenderness and affection,

quits the country village where his boyhood has been
passed in happy musing, in idle shelter, in fond long-
ing, to see the great world out of doors, and achieve
name and fortune ; and after years of dire struggle,
and neglect and poverty, his heart turning back as

fondly to his native place as it had longed eagerly for
change when sheltered there, he writes a book and a

poem full of the recollections and feelings of home
he paints the friends and scenes of his youth, and
peoples Auburn and Wakefield with remembrances of
Lissoy. Wander he must, but he carries away a
home relic with him, and dies with it on his breast.
His nature is truant ; in repose it longs for change

as on the journey it looks back for friends and quiet.
He passes to-day in building an air-castle for to-
XX OLIVER GOLDSMITH AND THE
morrow, or in writing yesterday's elegy ; and he would

fly away this hour, but that a cage and necessity keep
him. What is the charm of his verse, of his style and
humor ? His sweet regrets, his delicate compassion,
his soft smile, his tremulous sympathy, the weakness
which he owns ? Your love for him is half pity. You
come hot and tired from the day's battle, and this
sweet minstrel sings to you. Who could harm the

kind, vagrant harper ? Whom did he ever hurt ? He
carries no weapon, save the harp on which he plays
to you and with which he delights great and humble,
;
young and old, the captain in the tent, or the sol-

diers round the fire, or the women and children in
the villages, at whose porches he stops and sings his
simple songs of love and beauty. With that sweet
story of the * Vicar of Wakefield ' he has found
entry into every castle and every hamlet in Europe.
Not one of us, however busy or hard, but once or
twice in our lives has passed an evening with him,
and undergone the charm of his delightful music." ^
The unbroken succession of delight in this story is
illustrated by the pictures which it has given rise to.
Wilkie, Newton, Stothard, Leslie, Maclise and Mul-

ready have all turned to Moses its pages for subjects.
fitted Wedding Gown,
out for the Fair, Choosing the
The Whistonian Controversy, Haymaking, Fudge !
these and others have glanced back and forth from

Goldsmith's pages and the painter's canvas. But
1 The English Humorists, — Sterne and Goldsmith.
VICAE OF WAKEFIELD. XXI
every reader of the story carries in liis memory some

scene made by those inexplicable touches of
vivid
genius which seem in Goldsmith's work to be like
the dew on the grass, giving a heavenly radiance to
common things, yet disappearing as soon as one en-
deavors to catch and hold the momentary moisture.

After all, the best that one can do, when inviting
readers again to this ever delightful feast, is to set
the book before them in such dainty style as the

printer's art may afford — the best will not be too
good — and leave each to taste the pleasant fruit.
Here then is the book, yet I for one, would fain look
over the shoulder of the reader, re-read it myself, and *
enjoy the ripple of pleasure which will assuredly
move the surface of every reader's countenance.

H. E. S.
THE YICAE OF WAKEFIELD.
CHAPTER I.
THE DESCRIPTION OF THE FAMILY OF WAKEFIELD,

IN WHICH A KINDRED LIKENESS PREVAILS, AS
WELL OF MINDS AS OF PERSONS.
I WAS ever of opinion, that the honest man who

married and brought up a large family, did more ser-
vice than he who continued single and only talked
of population. From this motive, I had scarcely
taken orders a year, before I began to think seriously
of matrimony, and chose my wife as she did her
wedding-gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but for
such qualities as would wear well. To do her jus-
tice, she was a good-natured notable woman and as
;
for breeding, there were few country ladies who could

show more. She could read any English book with-
out much but for pickling, preserving, and
spelling ;
cookery, none could excel her. She prided herself

also upon being an excellent contriver in housekeep-
ing ; though I could never find that we grew richer
with all her contrivances.
1
2 VICAE OF WAKEFIELD.
However, we loved each other tenderly, and our

fondness increased as we grew old. There was, in
fact, nothing that could make us angry with the
world or each other. We had an elegant house sit-

uated in a fine country, and a good neighborhood.
The year was spent in moral or rural amusements,
in visiting our rich neighbors, and relieving such as
were poor. We had no revolutions to fear, nor fa-
tigues to undergo ; all our adventures were by the
the ii re-side, and all our migrations from the blue bed
to the brown.
As we lived near the road, we often had the trav-
eler or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry-wine,
for which we had great reputation ; and I profess
with the veracity of an historian, that I never knew
one of them Our cousins too, even
find fault with it.
to the fortieth remove, all remembered their afhuity,

without any help from the herald's office, and came
very frequently to see us. Some of them did us no
great honor by these claims of kindred as we had ;
the blind, the maimed, and the halt amongst the

number. However, my wife always insisted that as
they were the same flesh and blood, they should sit
with us at the same So that if we had not

table.
very rich, we generally had very happy friends about

us for this remark will hold good through life, that
;
the poorer the guest, the better pleased he ever is
with being treated : and as some men gaze with ad-

miration at the colors of a tulip, or the wings of a
butterfly, so I was by nature an admirer of happy
VICAE OF WAKEFIELD. 3
human faces. However, when any one of our rela-

tions was found to be a person of very bad character,
a troublesome guest, or one we desired to get rid of,
upon his leaving my house, I ever took care to lend

him a riding-coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes a
horse of small value, and I always had the satisfac-
tion of finding he never came back to 1-eturn them.
By this the house was cleared of such as we did not
like ; but never was the family of Wakefield known
to turn the traveler or the poor dependent out of
doors.
Thus we lived several years in a state of much
happiness, not but that we sometimes had those little
rubs which Providence sends to enhance the value

of its favors. My orchard was often robbed by
schoolboys, and my wife's custards plundered by the
cats or the children. The Squire would sometimes
fall asleep in the most pathetic parts of my sermon,
or his lady return my wife's civilities at church with
a mutilated courtesy. But we soon got over the un-
easiness by such accidents, and usually in
caused
three or four days began to wonder how they vexed
us.
My children the offspring of temperance, as they

were educated without softness, so they were at once
well formed and healthy; my sons hardy and active,
my daughters beautiful and blooming. When I
stood in the midst of the little circle, which promised
to be the support of my declining. age, I could not
avoid repeating the famous story of Count Abens-
4 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
berg, who, in Henry II.'s progress through Germany,

while other came with their treasures,
courtiers
brought his thirty-two children, and j^resented them
to his sovereign as the most valuable offering he had
to bestow. In this manner, though I had but six, I
considered them as a very valuable present made to
my country, and consequently looked upon it as
my debtor. Oar eldest son was named George, after
his uncle, who left us ten thousand pounds. Our
second child, a girl, I intended to call after her Aunt
Grissel ; but my wife, who during her pregnancy
had been reading romances, insisted upon her be-
ing called Olivia. In less than another year we
had another daughter, and now I was determined
that Grissel should be her name ; but a rich rela-
was
tion taking a fancy to stand godmother, the girl
by her directions, called Sophia so that we had ;
two romantic names in the family but I solemnly ;
protest I had no hand in it. Moses was our next,

and after an interval of twelve years, we had two
SODS more.
It would be fruitless to deny my exultation when I
saw my little ones about me ; but the vanity and the

satisfaction of my wife were even greater than mine.
When our visitors would say, " Well, upon my word,
Mrs. Primrose, you have the finest children in the
whole country " " Ay, neighbor," she would an-
:
swer, " they are as heaven made them, handsome

enough, if they be good enough ; for handsome is
that handsome does." And then she would bid the

;
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 5
girlshold up their heads who, to conceal nothing,

;
were certainly very handsome. Mere outside is so

very trifling a circumstance with me, that I should
scarcely haveremembered to mention it, had it not
been a general topic of conversation in the country.
Olivia, now about eighteen, had that luxuriancy of
beauty with which painters generally draw Hebe
open, sprightly, and commanding. Sophia's features
were not so striking at first, but often did more cer-
tain execution ; for they were soft, modest, and allur-
ing. The one vanquished by a single blow, the other
by efforts successively repeated.
The temper of a woman is generally formed from

the turn of her features, at least it was so with my
daughters. Olivia wished for many lovers, Sophia to
secure one. Olivia was often affected from too great
a desire to please. Sophia even repressed excellence,
from her fears to offend. The one entertained me
with her vivacity when I was gay, the other with her
sense when I was serious. But these qualities were
never carried to excess in either, and I have often
seen them exchange characters for a whole day to-
gether. A suit of mourning has transformed my
coquette into a prude, and a new set of ribbons has
given her younger sister more than natural vivacity.
My eldest son George was bred at Oxford, as I in-
tended him for one of the learned professions. My
second boy Moses, whom I designed for business, re-
ceived a sort of miscellaneous education at home.
But it is needless to attempt describing the particular
characters of young people that had seen but very

little of the world. In short a family likeness pre-
vailed through all, and properly speaking, they had
but one character, that of being all equally generous,
credulous, simple, and inoffensive.
CHAPTER 11.
FAMILY MISFORTUNES. THE LOSS OF FORTUNE

ONLY SERVES TO INCREASE THE PRIDE OF THE
WORTHY.
The temporal concerns of our family were chiefly

committed to my wife's management ; as to the spir-
itual, I took them entirely under my own direction.
The profits of my living, which amounted to but
thirty-five pounds a year, I made over to the orphans

and widows of the clergy of our diocese for having ;
sufficient fortune of my own, I was careless of tem-
poralities, and a secret pleasure in doing my duty

felt
without reward. I also set a resolution of keeping

no curate, and of being acquainted with every man
in the parish, exhorting the married men to temper-
ance,and the bachelors to matrimony so that in a ;
few years it was a common saying, that there were

three strange wants at Wakefield, a parson wanting
pride, young men wanting wives, and ale-houses
wanting customers.
Matrimony was always one of my favorite topics,
and I wrote several sermons to prove its happiness :
but there was a peculiar tenet which I made a point
of supporting ; for I maintained with Whiston, that

!
8 VICAR OF WAKEHELD.
it was unlawful for a priest of the church of England,

after the death of his first wife, to take a second ; or,
to express it in one word, I valued myself upon being

a strict monogamist.
I was early initiated into this important dispute,
on which so many laborious volumes have been writ-
ten. I published some tracts upon the subject my-
self, which, as they never sold, I have the consolation
of thinking are read only by the happ j few. Some
of my friends called this my weak side ; but, alas
they had not, like me, made it the subject of long
contemplation. The more I
upon it, thereflected
more important it appeared. I even went a step be-
yond Whiston in displaying my principles ^s he :
had engraven upon his wife's tomb that she was the
only wife of William Whiston so I wrote a similar ;
epitaph for my wife, though still living, in which I

extolled her prudence, economy, and obedience till
death ; and having got it copied fair, with an elegant

frame, was placed over the chimney-piece, where it
it
answered several very useful purposes. It admon-

ished my wife of her duty to me, and my fidelity to
her it inspired her with a passion for fame, and con-
;
stantly put her in mind of her end.

It was thus, perhaps, from hearing marriage so
often recommended, that my eldest son, just upon
leaving college, fixed his affections upon the daughter
of a neighboring clergyman, who was a dignitary in
the church, and in circumstances to give her a large
fortune. But fortune was her smallest accomplish-
ment. Miss Arabella Wilmot was allowed by all

(except my two daughters) to be completely pretty.
Her youth, health, and innocence, were still height-
ened by a complexion so transparent, and such a
happy sensibility of look, as even age could not gaze
on with indifference. As Mr. Wilmot knew that I
could make a very handsome settlement on my son,
he was not averse to the match : so both families
lived together in all that harmony which generally
precedes an expected alliance. Being convinced by
experience that the days of courtship are the most
happy of our lives, I was willing enough to lengthen
the period and the various amusements which the
;
young coujDle every day shared in each other's com-

pany, seemed to increase their passion. We were
generally awakened in the morning by music, and on
fine days rode a-hunting. The hours between break-
fast and dinner the ladies devoted to dress and study ;
they usually read a page, and gazed at themselves in

the glass, which even philosophers might own often
presented the page of greatest beauty. At dinner
my wife took the lead ; for as she always insisted
upon carving everything herself, it being her moth-
er's way, she gave us upon these occasions the history
of every dish. When we had dined, to prevent the

ladies leaving us, I generally ordered the table to be
removed ; and sometimes, with the music-master's
assistance, the girls would give us a very agreeable
concert. Walking out, drinking tea, country dances,
and forfeits, shortened the rest of the day, without
;
the assistance of cards, as I hated all manner of gam-

ing, except backgammon, at which my old friend and
I sometimes took a two-penny hit. Nor can I here
pass over an ominous circumstance that happened the
last time we played together ; I only wanted to fling
a quatre, and yet I threw deuce ace five times run-
ning.
Some months were elapsed in this manner, till at
last itwas thought convenient to fix a day for the
nuptials of the young couple, who seemed earnestly
to desire it. During the preparations for the wed-
ding, I need not describe the busy importance of my
wife, nor the sly looks of my daughters ; in fact, my
attention was fixed on another object, the completing
a tract which I intended shortly to publish in defense
of my favorite principle. As I looked upon this as
a masterpiece, both for argument and style, I could
not in the pride of my heart avoid showing it to my
old friend Mr. Wilmot, as I made no doubt of receiv-
ing his approbation ; but not till too late I discovered
that he was most violently attached to the contrary
opinion, and with good reason ; for he was at that
time actually courting a fourth wife. : This, as may
be expected, produced a dispute attended with some
acrimony, which threatened to interrupt our intended
alliance : but on the day before that appointed for
the ceremony, we agreed to discuss the subject at
large.
It was managed with proper spirit on both sides he ;
asserted th^t I was heterodox, I retorted the charge

VICAK OF WAKEFIELD. ll
he replied, and I rejoined. In the meantime, while

the controversy was hottest, I was called out by one
of my relations, who, with a face of concern, advised
me to give up the dispute, at least till my son's wed-
ding was over. "How," cried I, relinquish the '•
cause of truth, and let him be a husband, already

driven to the very verge of absurdity. You might
as well advise me to give up my fortune, as my argu-
ment." " Your fortune," returned my friend, " I am
now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The
merchant in town in whose hands your money was
lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute of bankruptcy,
and is thought not to have left a shilling in the pound.
I was unwilling to shock you or the family with the
account till after the wedding : but now it may serve
to moderate your warmth in the argument ; for, I
suppose, your own prudence will enforce the necessity
of dissembling, at least, till your son has the young
lady's fortune secure." " Well," returned I, " if
what you tell me be true, and if I am to be a beggar,

it shall never make me a rascal, or induce me to dis-
avow my principles. I '11 go this moment and inform

the company of my circumstances and as for the ;
argument, I even here retract my former concessions

in the old gentleman's favor, nor will I allow him
now to be a husband in any sense of the expres-
sion."
It would be endless to describe the different sen-
sations of both families when I divulged the news of
our misfortune: but what others felt was slight to
what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr. Wilmot,

who seemed before sufficiently inclined to break off
the match, was by this blow soon determined one ;
virtue, he had in perfection, which was prudence, too

often the only one that is left us at seventy-two.
CHAPTER III.
A MIGRATION. —
THE FORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES
OF OUR LIVES ARE GENERALLY FOUND AT LAST
TO BE OP OUR OWN PROCURING.
The only hope of our family now was, that the

report of our misfortune might be malicious or pre-
mature ; but a letter from my agent in town soon
came with a confirmation of every particular. The
loss of fortune to myself alone would have been tri-
fling ; the only uneasiness I felt was for my family,

who were to be humble without an education to ren-
der them callous to contempt.

Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to
restrain their affliction ; for premature consolation is
but the remembrancer of sorrow. During this inter-

val, my thoughts were employed on some future
means of supporting them and at last a small cure

;
of fifteen pounds a year was offered me in a distant

neighborhood, where I could still enjoy my principles
without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully
closed, having determined to increase my salary by
managing a little farm.
Having taken this resolution, my next care was to
get together the wrecks of my fortune : and, all debts
collected and paid, out of fourteen thousand pounds

we had but four hundred remaining. My chief at-
tention, therefore, was now to bring down the pride
of my family to their circumstances ; for I well knew
that aspiring beggary is wretchedness itself. " You
cannot be ignorant, my children," cried I, " that no
prudence of ours could have prevented our late mis-
fortune ; but prudence may do much in disappointing
its effects. We are now poor, my fondlings, and wis-
dom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let
us then, without repining, give up those splendors in
which numbers are wretched, and seek in humbler
circumstances that peace with which all may be
happy. The poor live pleasantly without our help,
why then should we not learn to live without theirs ?
No, my children, let us from this moment give up all
pretentions to gentility ; we have still enough left for

happiness, if we are wise ; and let us draw upon con-
^
tent for the deficiencies of fortune."
As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined
to send him to town, where his abilities might con-
tribute to our support and his own. The separation
of friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most
distressful circumstances attendant on penury. The
day soon arrived on which we were to disperse for
the first time. My son, after taking leave of his
mother and the rest, who mingled their tears with

their kisses, came to ask a blessing from me. This I
gave him from my heart, and which, added to five
guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow.
" You are going, my boy," cried I, " to London on

foot, in themanner Hooker, your great ancestor,
traveled there before you. Take from me the same
horse that was given him by the good Bishop Jewel,
this staff, and this book too, it will be your comfort
on the way : these two lines in it are worth a million,

/ have been young, and now am old; yet never saw I
the righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their
bread. Let be your consolation as you travel
this
on. Go, whatever be thy fortune, let me

my boy ;
see thee once a year still keep a good heart, and

;
farewell." As he was possessed of integrity and

honor, I was under no apprehensions for throwing
him naked into the amphitheatre of life ; for I knew
he would act a good part whether vanquished or vic-
torious.
His departure only prepared the way for our own,
which arrived a few days afterwards. The leaving a
neighborhood in which we had enjoyed so many
hours of tranquillity, was not without a tear which
scarcely fortitude itself could suppress. Besides, a
journey of seventy miles to a family that had hitherto

never been above ten from home, filled us with ap-
prehension ; and the cries of the poor, who followed
us for some miles, contributed to increase it. The

first day's journey brought us in safety within
thirty
miles of our future retreat, and we put up for the
night at an obscure inn in a village by the way.

When we were shown a room, I desired the landlord,
in my usual way, to let us have his company, with
which, he complied, as what he drank would increase

the bill next morning. He knew, however, the
whole neighborhood to which I was removing, par-
ticularly Squire Thornhill, who was to be my land-
lord, and who lived within a few miles of the place.
This gentleman he described as one who desired to
know little more of the world than its pleasures, be-

ing particularly remarkable for his attachment to
the fair sex. He observed that no virtue was able
to resist his arts and assiduity, and that scarcely a
farmer's daughter within ten miles round, but what
had found him successful and faithless. Though
this account gave me some pain, it had a very differ-
ent effect upon my daughters, whose features seemed

to brighten with the expectation of an approaching
triumph : nor was my wife less pleased and confident
of their allurements and virtue. While our thoughts
were thus employed, the hostess entered the room to
inform her husband, that the strange gentleman, who

had been two days in the house, wanted money, and
could not satisfy them for his reckoning. " Want
money the host, " that must be impossi-

!
" replied
ble ; for it was no later than yesterday he paid three
guineas to our beadle to spare an old broken soldier
that was to be whipped through the town for dog-
stealing." The hostess, however, still persisting in
her first assertion, he was preparing to leave the
room, swearing that he would be satisfied one way
or another, when I begged the landlord would in-
troduce me to a stranger of so much charity as he
•
described. With this he complied, showing in a gen-

tleman who seemed be about thirty, dressed in
to
clothes that once were laced. His person was well

formed, and his face marked with the lines of think-
ing. He had something short and dry in his address,
and seemed not understand ceremony, or to despise

to
it. Upon the landlord's leaving the room, I could

not avoid expressing my concern to the stranger at
seeing a gentleman in such circumstances, and offered
him my purse to satisfy the present demand. "I
take it with all my heart, sir," replied he, " and am

glad that a late oversight in giving what money I had
about me, has shown me that there are still some
men like you. I must, however, previously entreat
being informed of the name and residence of my bene-
factor, in order to repay him as soon as possible."
In this I satisfied him fully, not only mentioning my
name and late misfortunes, but the place to which I
was going to remove. " This," cried he, " happens
still more luckily than I hoped for, as I am
going the
same way myself, having been detained here two days

by the floods, which I hope by to-morrow will be
found passable." I testified the pleasure I should
have in his company, and my wife and daughters
joining in entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay
supper. The stranger's conversation, which was at
once pleasing and instructive, induced me to wish for
a continuance of it; but it was now high time to
retire and take refreshment against the fatigues of
the following day.
The next morning we all set forward together : my

family on horseback, while Mr. Burchell,^ our new
companion, walked along the foot-path by the road-
side, observing with a smile, that as we were ill-
mounted, he would be too generous to attempt leav-

ing us behind. As the floods were not yet subsided,
we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted on be-
fore, Mr. Burchell and I bringing up the rear. We
lightened the fatigues of the road with philosophical
disputes, which he seemed to understand perfectly.
But what surprised me most was, that though he was
a money-borrower, he defended his opinions with as
much obstinacy as if he had been my patron. He
now and then also informed me to whom the differ-
ent seats belonged that lay in our view as we traveled
the road. " That," cried he, pointing to a very mag-
nificent house which stood at some distance, " belongs
to Mr. Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a
large fortune, though entirely dependent on the will
of his uncle, Sir William Thornhill, a gentleman, who
content with a little himself, permits his nephew to
"
enjoy the rest, and chiefly resides in town." " What !
cried I, " is my young landlord then the nephew of a

man, whose virtues, generosity, and singularities are
so universally known? I have heard Sir William
Thornhill represented as one of the most generous
yet whimsical men in the kingdom ; a man of con-
1 One of Goldsmith's relations married a person named Bur-

chell, which may have suggested this name when writing the
tale.
;
summate benevolence." " Something, perhaps, too

much so," replied Mr. Burchell " at least he carried ;
benevolence to an excess when young for his pas- ;
sions were then strong, and as they were all upon

the side of virtue, they led it up to a romantic ex-
treme. He early began to aim at the qualifications of
the soldier and scholar ; was soon distinguished in the
army, and had some reputation among men of learn-
ing. Adulation ever follows the ambitious ; for such
alone receive most pleasure from flattery. He was

surrounded with crowds, who showed him only one
side of their character ; so that he began to lose a re-
gard for private interest in universal sympathy. He

loved all mankind ; for fortune prevented him from
knowing that there were rascals. Physicians tell us
of a disorder, in which the whole body is so exqui-
sitely sensible that the slightest touch gives pain
what some have thus suffered in their persons, this
gentleman felt in his mind. The slightest distress,
whether real or fictitious, touched him to the quick,
and his soul labored under a sickly sensibility of the

miseries of others. Thus disposed to relieve, it will
be easily conjectured he found numbers disposed to
solicit ; his profusions began to impair his fortune,
but not his good-nature ; that, indeed, was seen to
increase as the other seemed to decay ; he grew im-
provident as he grew poor ; and though he talked
like a man of sense, his actions were those of a fool.
Still, however, being surrounded with importunity,
and no longer able to satisfy every request that was
made him, instead of money he gave promises. They

were all he had to bestow, and he had not resolution
enough to give any man pain by a denial. By this
he drew round him crowds of dependents, whom he
was sure to disappoint, yet wished to relieve. These
hung upon him for a time, and left him with merited
reproaches and contempt. But in proportion as he
became contemptible to others, he became despicable
to himself. His mind had leaned upon their adula-
tion, and that support taken away, he could find no
pleasure in the applause of his heart, which he had

never learnt to reverence. The world now began to
wear a different aspect the flattery of his friends
;
began to dwindle into simple approbation. Approba-

tion soon took the more friendly form of advice, and
advice when rejected produced their reproaches. He
now therefore found, that such friends as benefits had
gathered round him, were little estimable ; he now
found that a man's own heart must be ever given to
gain that of another. I now found that — that — I
forgot what I was going to observe : in short, sir, he
resolved to respect himself, and laid down a plan of
restoring his fallen fortune. For this purpose, in his
own whimsical manner, he traveled through Europe
on foot, and now, though he has scarcely attained
the age of thirty,^ his circumstances are more affluent
than ever. At present, his bounties are more rational
and more moderate than before ; but still he preserves
1 Allusions which recall the time, place, and manner of some of

Goldsmith's own adventures.
the character of a humorist, and finds most pleasure

in eccentric virtues."
Mj attention was so much taken up by Mr. Bur-
chell's account, that I scarcely looked forward as we
went along, till we were alarmed by the cries of my
family, when turning, I perceived my youngest daugh-
ter in the midst of a rapid stream, thrown from her
horse, and struggling with the toi-rent. She had
sunk twice, nor was it in my power to disengage my-
self in time to bring her relief. My sensations were
even too violent to permit my attempting her rescue :
she must have certainly perished had not my compan-

ion, perceiving her danger, instantly plunged in to
her relief, and, with some difficulty, brought her
safely to the opposite shore. By taking the current
a little further up, the rest of the family got safely
over, where we had an opportunity of joining our ac-
knowledgments to her's. Her gratitude may be more
readily imagined than described she thanked her ;
deliverer more with looks than words, and continued

to lean upon his arm, as if still willing to receive as-
sistance. My wife also hoped one day to have the
pleasure of returning his kindness at her own house.
Thus, after we were refreshed at the next inn, and
had dined together, as Mr. Burchell was going to a
different part of the country he took leave and we ;
pursued our journey my wife observing as we went,

that she liked him extremely, and protesting that, if
he had birth and fortune to entitle him to match into
such a family as ours, she knew no man she would
sooner fix upon. I could not but smile to hear her

talk in this lofty strain ;
^ but I was never much dis-
pleased with those harmless delusions that tend to

make us more happy.
1 " One almost at the verge of beggary, thus to assume the lan-
guage of the most insulting affluence, might excite the ridicule of

ill-nature; but I was never," &c. —
First Edit.
CHAPTER IV.
A PROOF THAT EVEN THE HUMBLEST FORTUNE MAY

GRANT HAPPINESS, WHICH DEPENDS NOT ON CIR-
CUMSTANCES BUT CONSTITUTION.
The place of our retreat was in a little neighbor-
hood, consisting of farmers, who tilled their own

grounds, and were equal strangers to opulence and
poverty. As they had almost all the conveniences
of life within themselves, they seldom visited
towns
or cities in search of superfluity. Remote from the

polite, they retained the primeval simplicity of
still
manners, and frugal by habit, they scarcely knew that

temperance was a virtue. They wrought with cheer-
fulnesson days of labor but observed festivals as
:
and pleasure. They kept up the

intervals of idleness
Christmas carol, sent true love-knots on Valentine
morning, eat pancakes on Shrovetide, showed their
wit on the first of April, and religiously cracked nuts
on Michaelmas eve. Being apprised of our approach,
the whole neighborhood came out to meet their
min-
ister, dressed in their finest clothes, and preceded by

pipe and tabor. A feast was also provided for our
reception, at which we sat cheerfully down and what

;
the conversation wanted in wit, was made up in

laughter.
Our little habitation was situated at the foot of a

sloping hill, sheltered with beautiful underwood be-
hind and a prattling river before ; on one side a
meadow, on the other a green. My farm consisted

of about twenty acres of excellent land, having given
a hundred pounds for my predecessor's good will.
Nothing could exceed the neatness of my little in-
closures the elms and hedge-rows appearing with
;
inexpressible beauty. My house consisted of but one

story, and was covered with thatch, which gave it an
air of great snuguess ; the walls on the inside were
nicely whitewashed, and my daughters undertook to
adorn them with pictures of their own designing.
Though the same room served us for parlor and
kitchen, that only made it the warmer. Besides, as it
was kept with the utmost neatness, the dishes, plates

and coppers, being well scoured, and all disposed in
bright rows on the shelves, the eye was agreeably re-
lieved, and did not want richer furniture. There
were three other apartments, one for my wife and me,
another for our two daughters, within our own, and
the third, with two beds, for the rest of the children.
The little republic to which I gave laws, was regu-
lated in the following manner ; by sun-rise we all
assembled in our common apartment ; the fire being
previously kindled by the servant. After we had
saluted each other with proper ceremony, for I always
thought fit to keep up some mechanical forms of
good breeding, without which freedom ever destroys
friendship, we all bent in gratitude to that Being who
gave us another day. This duty being performed,

my son and I went to pursue our usual industry
abroad, while my wife and daughters employed them-
selves in prpviding breakfast, which was always ready
at a certain time. I allowed half an hour for this
meal, and an hour for dinner which time was taken
;
up in innocent mirth between my wife and daughters,

and in philosophical arguments between my son and
me.
As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our
labors after was gone down, but returned home to
it
the expecting family where smiling looks, a neat

;
hearth, and pleasant fire, were prepared for our re-

ception. Nor were we without guests ; sometimes
Farmer Flamborough, our talkative neighbor, and
often the blind piper, would pay us a visit, and taste
our gooseberry wine for the making of which we
;
had lost neither the receipt nor the reputation. These

harmless people had several ways of being good com-
pany while one played, the other would sing some
;
soothing ballad, Johnny Armstrong's last good night,

or the cruelty of Barbara Allen. The night was con-
cluded in the manner we began the morning, my
youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons of
the day and he that read loudest, distinctest, and
;
best, was to have a half-penny on Sunday to put in

the poor's box.
When Sunday came, it was indeed a day of finery,
whichall my sumptuary edicts could not restrain.
How well soever I fancied my lectures against pride
:
had conquered the vanity of my daughters, yet I

found them still secretly attached to all their former
finery ; they still loved laces, ribands, bugles and cat-

gut ; my wife herself retained a passion for her crim-
son paduasoy, because I formerly happened to say it
became her.
The first Sunday in particular their behavior served
to mortify me I had desired my girls the preceding
;
night to be drest early the next day ; for I alvrays

loved to be at church a good while before the rest of
the congregation. They punctually obeyed my di-
rections ; when we were to assemble in the morn-
but
ing at breakfast, down came my wife and daughters,
drest out in all their former splendor : their hair
plastered, up with pomatum, their faces patched to
taste, their trains bundled up in a heap behind, and
rustling at every motion. I could not help smiling
at their vanity, particularly that of my wife, from
whom I expected more discretion. In this exigence,
therefore, my only resource was to order my son,

with an important air, to call our coach. The girls
were amazed at the command ; but I repeated it with

more solemnity than before. — " Surely, my dear, jou
jest," cried my wife, " we can walk it perfectly well
we want no coach now." " You mistake,
to carry us
child," returned I, " we do want a coach for if we ;
walk to church in this trim, the very children in the

parish will hoot after us." "Indeed," replied my
wife, " I always imagined that my Charles was fond
of seeing his children neat and handsome about him."
" You may be as neat as you please," interrupted

I, " and I you the better for it but all this
shall love ;
is not neatness, but frippery. These rufflings, and

pinkings, and patchings, will only make us hated by
all the wives of all our neighbors. No, my children,"
continued I, more gravely, " those gowns may be al-
tered into something of a plainer cut ; for finery is
very unbecoming in us, who want the means of de-
cency. I do not know whether such flouncing and

shredding is becoming even in the rich, if we consider,
upon a moderate calculation, that the nakedness of
the indigent world might be clothed from the trim-
mings of the vain."
This remonstrance had a proper effect ; they went
with great composure, that very instant, to change
their dress ; and the next day I had the satisfaction
of finding my daughters, at their own request, em-

ployed in cutting up their trains into Sunday waist-
coats for Dick and Bill, the two little ones, and what
was still more satisfactory, the gowns seemed im-
proved by this curtailing.
*^
every morning awaked us to a repetition of toil ; but

the evening repaid it with vacant hilarity.
It was about the beginning of the autumn, on a
holiday, for I kept such as intervals of relaxation
from labor, that I had drawn out my family to our
usual place of amusement, and our young musicians
began their usual concert. As we were thus engaged,
we saw a stag bound nimbly by, within about twenty
paces of where we were sitting, and by its panting it
seemed pressed by the hunters. "We had not much
time to reflect upon the poor animal's distress, when
we perceived the dogs and horsemen come sweeping
along at some distance behind, and making the very
path it had taken. I was instantly for returning in
with my familybut either curiosity, or surprise, or
;
some more hidden motive, held my wife and daugh-

ters to their seats. The huntsman, who rode foremost,
passed us with great swiftness, followed by four or
five who seemed in equal haste. At
persons more,
last, young gentleman of a more genteel appearance
a
than the rest came forward, and for a while regarding
us, instead of pursuing the chase, stopt short, and giv-
ing his horse to a servant who attended, approached
us with a careless superior air. He seemed to want
no introduction, but was going to salute my daugh-
ters, as one certain of a kind reception but they had
;
earlyQ.earnt the lesson of looking presumption out of

countenance?\ Upon which he let us know his name
was Thornhiii, and that he was the owner of the es-
tate that lay for some extent round us. He again
therefore offered to salute the female part of the fam-

ily, and such was the power of fortune and fine
clothes, that he found no second repulse. As his ad-

dress, though confident, was easy, we soon became
more familiar ; and perceiving musical instruments
Ijdng near, he begged to be fiivored with a song. As
I did not approve of such disproportioned acquain-
tance, I winked upon my daughters in order to pre-
vent their compliance ; but my hint was counteracted
by one from their mother ; so that, with a cheerful
air, they gave us a favorite song of Dryden's. Mr.
Thornhill seemed highly delighted with their per-
formance and choice, and then took up the guitar
himself. He played but very indiiferently ; however,
my eldest daughter repaid his former applause with
interest, and assured him that his tones were louder
than even those of her master. At this compliment
he bowed, which she returned with a courtesy. He
commended his understand-
praised her taste, and she
ing; an age could not have made them better ac-
quainted : while the fond mother, too, equally happy,
insisted upon her landlord's stepping in, and tasting a
glass of gooseberry. The whole family seemed earn-
est to please him my girls attempted to entertain him
:
with topics they thought most modern, while Moses,

on the contrary, gave him a question or two from the
ancients, for which he had the satisfaction of being
laughed at:^ my little ones were no less busy, and
1 "For he alvvaj^s ascribed to his wit that laughter which was

lavished at his simplicity." — Fh^st Edit.
fondly stuck close to the stranger. All my endeav-

ors could scarcely keep their fingers from handling
and tarnishing the lace on his clothes, and lifting up
the flaps of his pocket-holes, to see what was there.
At the approach of evening he took leave ; but not
till he had requested permission to renew his visit,
which, as he was our landlord, we most readily agreed

to.
As soon as he was gone, my wife called a council

on the conduct of the day. She was of opinion, that
it was a most fortunate hit ; for that she had known
even stranger things at last brought to bear. She
hoped again to see the day in which we might hold
up our heads with the best of them ; and concluded,
she protested she could see no reason why the two
Miss Wrinkles should marry great fortunes, and her
children get none. As this last argument was di-
rected to me, I protested I could see no reason for it
either, nor why Mr. Simkins got the ten thousand

pound prize in the lottery, and we sat down with a
blank.^ " I protest, Charles," cried my wife, " this
is the way you always damp my girls and me when

we are in spirits. Tell me, Sophy, my dear, what do
you think of our new visitor ? Don't you think he
seemed to be good-natured " ! " Immensely so in-
1 "But those," added I, "who either aim at husbands greater

than them<5elves, or at the ten thousand pound prize, have been
fools for their ridiculous claims, whether successful or not." —
First Edit.
;
deed, mamma," replied she. " I think he has a great
deal to say upon everything, and is never at a loss

and the more trifling the subject, the more he has to
say." " Yes," cried Olivia, " he is well enough for a
man ; but for my own part, I don't much like him,
he is so extremely impudent and familiar ; but on the
guitar he is shocking." These two last speeches I
interpreted by contraries. I found by this, that

Sophia internally much as Olivia secretly
desjDised, as
admired him. " Whatever may be your opinions of

him, my children," cried T, " to confess the truth, he has
not prepossessed me in his favor. Disproportioned
friendships ever terminate in disgust ; and I thought,
notwithstanding all his ease, that he seemed perfectly
sensible of the distance between us. Let us keep to
companions of our own rank. There is no character
more contemptible than a man that is a fortune-
hunter ; and I can see no reason why fortune-hunting
women should not be contemptible too. Thus, at
we
best, shall be contemptible if his views be honora-
ble ; but if they be otherwise ! I should shudder but
to think of that. It is true I have no apprehensions
from the conduct of my children, but I think there
are some from his character." I would have pro-
ceeded, but for the interruption of a servant from the
Squire, who, with his compliments, sent us a side of
venison, and a promise to dine with us some days
after. This well-timed present pleaded more power-
fully in his favor than anything I had to say could
obviate. I therefore continued silent, satisfied with

just having pointed out danger, and leaving it to
their own discretion to avoid it. That virtue which
requires to be ever guarded, is scarcely worth the
sentinel.
3
CHAPTER VI.
THE HAPPINESS OF A COUNTRY FIRESIDE.
As we carried on the former dispute with some

deofree of warmth, iu order to accommodate matters,
it was universally agreed, that we should have a part
of the venison for supper ; and the girls undertook
the task with alacrity. " I am sorry," cried I, " that
we have no neighbor or stranger to take a part in
this good cheer ; feasts of this kind acquire a double
relish from hospitality." " Bless me," cried my wife,
"here comes our good friend Mr. Burchell, that
saved our Sophia, and that ran you down fairly in
"
the argument." " Confute me in argument, child !
cried I. " You mistake there, my dear ; I believe

there are but few that can do that ; I never dispute
your abilities at making a goose-pie, and I beg you '11
leave argument to me." As I spoke, poor Mr. Bur-

chell entered the house, and was welcomed by the
family, who shook him heartily by the hand, while
little Dick officiously reached him a chair.
I was pleased with the poor man's friendship for
two reasons ; because I knew that he wanted mine,
and I knew him to be friendly as far as he was
able. He was known in our neighborhood by the
character of the poor Gentleman that would do no

good when he was young, though he was not yet
thirty. He would at intervals talk with great good
sense but in general he was fondest of the company
;
of children, whom he used to call harmless little men.

He was famous, I found, for singing them ballads,
and telling them stories and seldom went out with- ;
out something in his pockets for them a piece of ;
gingerbread, or a halfpenny whistle. He generally

came for a few days into our neighborhood once a
year, and lived upon the neighbors' hospitality. He
sat down to supper among us, and my wife was not
sparing of her gooseberry wine. The tale went
round ; he sung us old songs, and gave the children
the story of the Buck of Beverland, with the history
of Patient Grissel, the adventures of Catskin, and
then Fair Rosamond's Bower. Our cock, which
always crew at eleven, now told us it was time for
repose ; but an unforeseen difficulty started about
lodging the stranger — all our beds were already
taken up, and it was too late to send him to the next
ale-house. In this dilemma, little Dick offered him
his part of the bed, if his brotherMoses would let
him lie with him " And I," cried Bill, " will give
:
Mr. Burchell my part, if my sisters will take me to

theirs." " Well done, my good children," cried I,
" hospitality is one of the first Christian duties. The
beast retires to his shelter, and the bird flies to its
nest ; but helpless man can only find refuge from his
fellow creature. The greatest stranger in this world,
!
3j5 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
was he that came to save it. He never had a house,

as if willing to see what hosiDitality was left remain-
ing amongst us. Deborah, my clear," cried I to my
wife, " give those boys a lump of sugar each, and let
Dick's be the largest, because he spoke first."
In the morning early I called out my whole family

to help at saving an after-growth of hay, and our
guest offering his assistance, he was accepted among
the number. Our went on lightly we turned
labors ;
the swath to the wind. I went foremost, and the

rest followed in due succession. I could not avoid,
however, observing the assiduity of Mr. Burchell in
assisting my daughter Sophia in her part of the task.
When he had finished his own, he would join in her's,
and enter into a close conversation ; but I had too

good an opinion of Sophia's understanding, and was
too well convinced of her ambition, to be underany
uneasiness from a man of broken fortune. When we
were finished for the day, Mr. Burchell was invited
as on the night before ; but he refused, as he was to
lie that night at a neighbor's, to whose child he was
carrying a whistle. When gone, our conversation at
supper turned upon our late unfortunate guest.
"What a strong instance," said I, "is that poor man
of the miseries attending a youth of levity and ex-
travagance ! He by no means wants sense, which
only serves to aggravate his former folly. Poor for-
lorn creature, where are now the revellers, the flat-

terers, that he could once inspire and command
Gone, perhaps, to attend the bagnio pander, grown
ricli by his extravagance. They once praised him,
and now they applaud the pander their former rap-

;
tures at his wit are now converted into sarcasms at

his folly he is poor, and perhaps deserves poverty
: ;
for he has neither the ambition to be independent,

nor the skill to be useful." Prompted, perhaps, by
some secret reasons, I delivered this observation with
too much acrimony, which my Sophia gently reproved
— " Whatsoever his former conduct may have been,
papa, his circumstances should exempt him from cen-
sure now. His present indigence is a sufficient pun-
ishment for former folly and I have heard my papa
;
himself say, that we should never strike one unneces-

sary blow at a victim over whom Providence holds
the scourge of its resentment." "You are right,
Sophy," cried my son Moses, "and one of the an-
cients finely represents so malicious a conduct, by the

attempts of a rustic to flay Marsyas, whose skin, the
fable tells us, had been wholly stript off by another.
Besides, I don't know if this poor man's situation be
so bad as my father would represent it. We are not
to judge of the feelings of others, by what we might
feel if in their place. However dark the habitation
of the mole to our eyes, yet the animal itself finds
the apartment sufficiently lightsome. And to confess
the truth, this man's mind seems fitted to his station ;
for I never heardany one more sprightly than he was

to-day, when he conversed with you." This was
Baid without the least design however, it excited a
;
blush, which she strove to cover by an affected laugh,

assuring him, that she scarcely took any notice of

what he said to her; but that she. believed he naight
once have been a very fine gentleman. The readi-
ness with which she undertook to vindicate herself,
and her blushing, were symptoms I did not internally
approve ; but I repressed my suspicions.

As we expected our landlord the next day, my
wife went to make the venison pasty. Moses sat
reading, while I taught the little ones : my daughters
seemed equally busy with the rest ; and I observed
them for a good while cooking something over the
fire. I at first supposed they were assisting their
mother; but little Dick informed me in a whisper,
that they were making a wash for the face. Washes
of all kinds I had a natural antipathy to ; for I knew
that instead ofmending the complexion, they spoiled
it. I therefore approached my chair by sly degrees
to the fire, and grasping the poker as if it wanted
mending, seemingly by accident overturned the whole
composition, and it was too late to begin another.
CHAPTER VII.
A.TOWN WIT DESCRIBED THE DULLEST FELLOWS

MAY LEARN TO BE COMICAL FOR A NIGHT OR TWO.
When the mornmg arrived on which we were to

entertain our young landlord, it may be easily sup-
posed what provisions were exhausted to make an
appearance. It may also be conjectured that my
wife and daughters expanded their gayest plumage
upon this occasion. Mr. Thornhill came with a
couple of friends, his chaplain and feeder. The ser-
vants, who were numerous, he politely ordered to the

next ale-house, but my wife, in the triumph of her
heart, insisted on entertaining them all ; for which, by
the bye, our family was pinched for three weeks after.
As Mr. Burchell had hinted to us the day before,
that he was making some proposals of marriage to
Miss Wilmot, my son George's former mistress, this
a good deal damped the heartiness of his reception :
but accident in some measure relieved our embarrass-

ment ; for one of the company happening to mention
her name, Mr. Thornhill observed with an oath, that
he- never knew anything more absurd than calling
such a fright a beauty :
" For strike me ugly," con-
tinued he, "if I should not find as much pleasure in
choosing my mistress by the information of a lamp

under the clock at St. Dunstan's." At this he
laughed, and so did we ; the jests of the rich are
ever successful. Qlivia, too, could not avoid whis-
pering loud enough to be heard, that he had an infi-
nite fund of humor.

After dinner, I began with my usual toast, the
Church ; for this I was thanked by the chaplain, as

he said the Church was the only mistress of his affec-
tions. " Come tell us honestly, Frank," said the
Squire, with his usual archness, " suppose the Church,

your present mistress, drest in lawn sleeves, on one
hand, and Miss Sophia, with no lawn about her, on
the other, which would you be for ? " " For both, to
be sure," cried the chaplain. " Right, Frank," cried
the Squire, " for may this glass suffocate me but a

fine girl is worth all the priestcraft in the creation.
For what are tithes and tricks but an imposition, all
a confounded imposture, and I can prove it ? " "I

wish you would," cried my son Moses ;
" and I
think," continued he, " that I should be able to an-
swer you." " Very well, sir," cried the Squire, who
immediately smoked him, and winking on the rest of
the company to prepare us for some sport, " if you
are for a cool argument upon that subject, I am
ready to accept the challenge. And first, whether
"
you are for managing it analogically or dialogically ?
" I am for managing it rationally," cried Moses, quite
happy at being permitted to dispute. " Good again,"
cried the Squire, "and firstly, of the first: I hope

"
you '11 not deny, that whatever is, is. If you don't
grant me that, I can go no further." "Why," re-
turned Moses, " I think I may grant that, and make
the best of it." " I hope, "too," returned the other,
" you '11 grant that a part is less than the whole." "I
grant that too," cried Moses, " it is but just and rea-
sonable." " I hope," cried the Squire, ''
you will not
deny, that the two angles of a triangle are equal to

two right ones." " Nothing can be plainer," returned
the other, and looked round with his usual impor-
tance. " Very well," cried the Squire, speaking very
quick, " the premises being thus settled, I proceed to
observe, that the concatenation of self-existence, pro-
ceeding in a reciprocal duplicate ratio, naturally pro-
duces a problematical dialogism, which in some
measure proves that the essence of spirituality may
be referred to the second predicable." " Hold, hold,"
cried the other, " I deny that : Do you think I can

?
thus tamely submit to such heterodox doctrines
" What !
" replied the Squire, as if in a passion, " not
submit! Answer me one plain question: Do you
think Aristotle right when he says, that relatives are
related ? " " Undoubtedly," replied the other. " If
so, then," cried the Squire, " answer me directly to
what I propose :Whether do you judge the analytical

investigation of the first part of my enthymem defi-
cient secundum quoad, or quoad minus, and give me
your reasons : give me your reasons, I say, directly."
" I protest," cried Moses, " I don't rightly compre-
hend the force of your reasoning; but if it be re-
duced to one simple proposition, I fancy it may then

have an answer." " O sir," cried the Squire, " I am
your most humble servant; I you want me to
find
furnish you with argument and intellects too. No,
sir, there I protest you are too hard for me." This
effectually raised the laugh against poor Moses, who
sat the only dismal figure in a group of merry faces ;
nor did he offer a single syllable more during the

whole entertainment.
But though gave no pleasure, it had a very
all this
upon Olivia, who mistook it, for humor,

different effect
though but a mere act of the memory. She thought
him therefore a very fine gentleman and such as ;
consider what powerful ingredients a good figure, fine

clothes, and fortune are in that character, will easily
forgive her. Mr. Thornhill, notwithstanding his real
ignorance, talked with ease, and could expatiate upon
the common topics of conversation with fluency. It
is not surprising, then, that such talents should win
the affections of a girl, who by education was taught
to value an appearance in herself, and consequently
to set a value upon it in another.
Upon his departure, we again entered into a de-
bate upon the merits of our young landlord. As he
directed his looks and conversation it was to Olivia,
no longer doubted but that she was the object that
induced him to be our visitor. Nor did she seem to
be much displeased at the innocent raillery of her

brother and sister upon this occasion. Even Deborah
herself seemed to share the glory of the day, and
exulted in her daughter's victory as if it were her
;
:
own. "And now, my dear," cried she to me, "I'll

fairly own, that it was I that instructed my girls to
encourage our landlord's addresses. I had always

some ambition, and you now see that I was right
forwho knows how this may end ? " " Ay, who
knows that indeed
!
" answered I, with a groan
" for my part, I don't much like it ; and I could have
been better pleased with one that was poor and hon-
est, than this fine gentleman with his fortune and in-
fidelity ; for, depend on 't, if he be what I suspect him,
no free-thinker shall ever have a child of mine."
" Sure, father," cried Moses, " you are too severe
in this : for Heaven will never arraign him for what
he thinks, but for what he does. Every man has a
thousand vicious thoughts, which arise without his
power to suppress. Thinking freely of religion may
be involuntary with this gentleman ; so that, allow-
ing his sentiments to be wrong, yet as he is purely
passive in his assent, he is no more to be blamed for
his errors, than the governor of a city without walls
for the shelter he is obliged to afford an invading
enemy."
" True, my son," cried I ; " but if the governor in-
vites the enemy there, he is justly culpable. And
such is always the case with those who embrace error.
The vice does not lie in assenting to the proofs they

see ; but in being blind to many of the proofs that
offer.^ So that, though our erroneous opinions be
1 " Like corrupt judges on a bench, they determine right to that

part of the evidence the}^ hear but they will not hear all the evi-
;
dence. Thus my son, though," &c. — First Edit.

involuntary when formed, yet as we have been wil-

fully corrupt, or very negligent in forming them, we
deserve punishment for our vice, or contempt for our
folly."
My wife now kept up the conversation, though not

the argument: she observed, that several very pru-
dent men of our acquaintance were free-thinkers, and
made very good husbands ; and she knew some sen-
sible girls that had skill enough to make converts of
their spouses :
" And who knows, my dear," con-
tinued she, " what Olivia may be able to do. The
girl has a great deal to say upon every subject, and
to my knowledge is very well skilled in contro-
versy."
" Why, my dear, what controversy can she have
read ? " cried I : "It does not occur to me that I ever
put such books into her hand ;
you certainly over-
rate her merit." " Indeed, .
papa," replied Olivia,
" she does not ; I have read a great deal of contro-
versy. I have read the disputes between Thwackum
and Square ; the controvesy between Robinson Cru-
soe and Friday the savage, and am now employed in
reading the controversy in ' Religious Courtship.' " ^
" Very well," cried I, " that 's a good girl, I find you
are perfectly qualified for making converts ; and so
help your mother to make the gooseberry-pie."
1 A work written in 1722, by Daniel Defoe, to exhibit in a fa-

miliar manner the unhappy consequences of marriage between
persons of opposite persuasions in religion.
;
CHAPTER VIII.
AN AMOUR WHICH PROMISES LITTLE GOOD FOR-

TUNE, YET MAY BE PRODUCTIVE OF MUCH.
The next morning we were again visited by Mr.

Burchell, though I began, for certain reasons, to be
displeased with the frequency of his return ; but I
could not refuse him my company and my fireside.
It is true, his labor more than requited his entertain-

ment ; for he wrought among us with vigor, and
either in the meadow or at the hay-rick put himself
foremost. Besides, he had always something amus-
ing to say that lessened our toil, and was at once so
out of the way, and yet so sensible, that I loved,
laughed at, and pitied him. My only dislike arose
from an attachment he discovered to my daughter
he would, in a jesting manner, call her his little mis-
tress,and when he bought each of the girls a set of
ribbons, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but
he every day seemed to become more amiable, his
wit to improve, and his simplicity to assume the su-
perior airs of wisdom.
Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or rather
reclined round a temperate repast, our cloth spread
upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave cheerfulness
to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction two black-

birds answered each other from opposite hedges, the
familiar redbreast came and pecked the crumbs from
our hands, and every sound seemed but the echo of
tranquillity. " I never sit thus," says Sophia, " but I
think of the two lovers so sweetly described by Mr.
Gay, who were struck dead in each other's arms.
There is something so pathetic in the description that
I have read it a hundred times with new rapture."
" In my opinion," cried my son, " the finest strokes
in that description are much below those in the Acis

and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet understands
the use of contrast better ; and upon that figure art-
full}^ managed, all strength. in the pathetic depends."

" It is remarkable," cried Mr. Burchell, " that both
the poets you mention have equally contributed to
introduce a fiilse taste into their respective countries,
by loading all their lines with epithet. Men of little
genius found them most easily imitated in their de-

fects, and English poetry, like that in the latter em-
pire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combination
of luxuriant images, without plot or connection ; a
string of epithets that improve the sound, without
carrying on the sense. But perhaps, madam, while
I thus reprehend others, you '11 think it just that I
should give them an opportunity to retaliate, and in-
deed I have made the remark only to have an oppor-
tunity of introducing to the company a ballad, which,
whatever be its other defects, is, I think, at least free
from those I have mentioned."
A BALLAD.
*' Turn, gentle Hermit of tlie dale,
And guide my lonely way,
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.
" For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;

Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go."
*' Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,

" To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
'
' Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;
And though my portion is but scant,

I give it with good will.
" Then turn to-night, and freely share

Whate'er my cell bestows ;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,

My blessing and repose.
" No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn ;
Taught. by that power that pities me,

I learn to pity them :
:
" But from the mountain's grassy side,
A guiltless feast I bring ;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.
*'Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego,

All earth-born cares are wrong ;
)Man wants but little here below.

Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from Heaven descends,

His gentle accents fell,
The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay,
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor
And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch

Required a master's care ;
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,

Keceived the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire

To take their ev'ning rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest
And spread his vegetable store.

And gayly press'd and smil'd ;
And skill 'd in legendary lore.

The linof'rino: hours beaiuil'd.
;
Around in sympatlietic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling fagot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart

To soothe the stranger's woe ;
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the Hermit spied,

With answ'ring care opprest :
n And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,

The sorrows of thy breast ?
*
'
*' From better habitations spurn'd,

Reluctant dost thou rove ?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,

Or unregarded love ?
*' Alas ! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling, and decay ;
And those who prize the paltry things,

More trifling still than they.
" And what is friendship but a name,

A charm that lulls to sleep ;
A shade that follows wealth or fame

But leaves the wretch to weep ?
*i And love is still an emptier sound,

The modern fair-one's jest
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.
4
;
" For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,

And spurn the sex," he said;
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise,

Swift mantling to the view
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms :
The lovely stranger stands confest

A maid in all her charms.
*' And ah ! forgive a stranger rude,

A wretch forlorn," she cried ;
Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude

Where Heaven and you reside.
*' But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray ;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair

Companion of her way.
*'
My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he ;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.
" To win me from his tender arms,

Unnumber'd suitors came ;
Who prais'd me for imputed charms,

And felt or feign'd a flame.
*' Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove ;
Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,

But never talk'd of love.
*' In humble, simplest habit clad,

No wealth nor power had he ;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,

But these were all to me.
** And when beside me in the dale.

He carol'd lays of love.
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.
*' The blossom opening to the day,

The dews of Heaven refin'd,
Could naught of purity display
To emulate his mind.
** The dew, the blossom on the tree.

With charms inconstant shine ;
Their charms were his, but woe to me,

Their constancy was mine.
" For still I tried each fickle art.
Importunate and vain ;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph 'd in his pain.
" with my scorn.

Till quite dejected
He left me to my pride ;
And sought a solitude folorn.

In secret, where he died.
; :
" But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my life shall pay ;
I '11 seek the solitude he sought,

And stretch me where he lay.
*' And there forlorn, despairing, hid,

I lay me down and die
'11
'T was so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I. ''
*' Forbid it, Heaven "! the Hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast
The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide —
'T was Edwin's self that prest.
*' Turn, Angelina, ever dear !
My charmer, turn to see

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here
Restor'd to love and thee.
' Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign :
And shall we never, never part.

—
My life my all that 's mine?
" No, never from this hour to part,
We '11 live and love so true ;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,

Shall break thy Edwin's too."
While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to

mix an air of tenderness with her approbation. But
our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a
;
gun just by us, and immediately after a man was seen

bursting through the hedge, to take up the game he
had killed. This sportsman was the Squire's chap-
lain, who had shot one of the blackbirds that so agree-
ably entertained us. So loud a report, and so near,
startled my daughters; and I could perceive that
Sophia, in the fright, had thrown herself into Mr.
Burcheli's arms for protection. The gentleman came
up and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirm-
ing that he was ignorant of our being so near. He
therefore sat down by my youngest daughter, and,
sportsman-like, oifered her what he had killed that
morning. She was going to refuse, but a private look
from her mother soon induced her to correct the mis-
take, and accept his present, though with some reluc-
tance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a
whisper, observing, that Sophy had made a conquest
of the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the Squire.
I suspected, however, with more probability, that her
affections were placed upon a different object. The
chaplain's errand was to inform us, that Mr. Thorn-
hill had provided music and refreshments, and in-
tended that night giving the young ladies a ball by

moonlight, on the grass-plot before our door. " Nor
can I deny," continued he, " but I have an interest in
being first to deliver this message, as I expect for my
reward to be honored with Miss Sophy's hand as a
partner." To this my girl replied, that she should
have no objection, if she could do it with honor
" but here," continued she, " is a gentleman," looking
at Mr. Burcliell, " who has been my companion in the
task for the day, and it is fit he should share in its
amusements." Mr. Burchell returned her a compli-

ment for her intentions ; but resigned her up to the
chaplain adding, that he was to go that night five
miles, being invited to a harvest supper. His refusal
appeared to me a little extraordinary ; nor could I
conceive how so sensible a girl as my youngest, could
thus prefer a man of broken fortunes to one whose
expectations were much greater. But as men are
most capable of distinguishing merit in women, so the
ladies often form the truest judgments of us. The
two sexes seem placed as spies upon each other, and
are furnished with different abilities, adapted for mu-
tual inspection.
CHAPTER IX.
TWO LADIES OF GREAT DISTINCTION INTRODUCED.

SUPERIOR FINERY EVER SEEMS TO CONFER SUPE-
RIOR BREEDING.
Mr. Burchell had scarcely taken leave, and So-

phia consented to dance with the chaplain, when my
little ones came running out to tell us, that the Squire
was come with a crowd of company. Upon our re-
turn in, we found our landlord, with a couple of un-
der gentlemen and two young ladies richly dressed,
whom he introduced as women of very great distinc-
tionand fashion from town. We happened not to
have chairs enough for the whole company but Mr. ;
Thornhill immediately proposed, that every gentle-

man should sit in a lady's lap. This I positively ob-
jected to, notwithstanding a look of disapprobation
from my wife. Moses was therefore dispatched to
borrow a couple of chairs and as we were in want
;
of ladies to make up a set at country dances, the two

gentlemen went with him in quest of a couple of
partners. Chairs and partners were soon provided.
The gentlemen returned with my neighbor Flam-
borough's rosy daughters, flaunting with red top-
knots ; but an unlucky circumstance was not adverted
to — though the Miss Flamboroughs were reckoned

the very best dancers in the parish, and understood
the jig and roundabout to perfection, yet they were
totally unacquainted with country dances. This at
first discomposed us ; however, after a little shoving
and dragging, they at last went merrily on. Our mu-
sic consisted of two fiddles, with a pipe and tabor.
The moon shone bright. Mr. Thornhill and my eld-
est daughter led up the ball, to the great delight of
the spectators ; for the neighbors, hearing what was
going forward, came flocking about us. My girl
moved with so much grace and vivacity, that my wife
could not avoid discovering the pride of her heart, by
assuring me, that though the little chit did it so clev-
erly, all the steps were stolen from herself. The
ladies of the town strove hard to be equally easy,
but without success. They swam, sprawled, lan-
guished and frisked ; but all would not do the gazers
:
indeed owned that it was fine but neighbor Flam- ;
borough observed, that Miss Livy's feet seemed to

pat to the music as its echo. After the dance had
continued about an hour, the two ladies, who were
apprehensive of catching cold, moved to break up
the ball. One of them, I thought, expressed her
sentiments on this occasion in a very coarse manner,
when she observed, that hy the living jingo she was
all of a much of sweat. Upon our return to the
house, we found a very elegant cold su23per, which
Mr. Thornhill had ordered to be brought with him.
The conversation at this time was more reserved than
before. The two ladies threw my girls quite into the

shade ; for they would talk of nothing but high-life
and high-lived company ; with other fashionable top-

ics, such as pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musi-
cal glasses. 'Tis true they once or twice mortified us
sensibly by slipping out an oath; but that appeared
to me as the surest symptom of their distinction
(though I am since informed that swearing is per-
fectly unfashionable). Their finery, however, threw
a veil over any grossness in their conversation. My
daughters seemed to .regard their superior accomplish-
ments with envy; and what appeared amiss, was
ascribed to tip-top quality breeding. But the conde-
scension of the ladies was still superior to their other
accomplishments. One ofthem observed, that had
Miss Olivia seen a little more of the world, it would
greatly improve her. To which the other added,
that a single winter in town would make her little
Sophia quite another thing. My wife warmly as-

sented to both; adding, that there was nothing she
more ardently desired than to give her girls a single
winter's polishing. To this I could not help replying,
that their breeding was already superior to their for-
tune ; and that greater refinement would only serve
to make their poverty ridiculous, and give them a
taste for pleasures they had no right to possess.
" And what pleasures," cried Mr. Thornhill, " do
they not deserve to possess, who have so much in
their power to bestow ? As for my part," continued
he, " my fortune is pretty large ; love, liberty, and
pleasure are my maxims ; but curse me if a settle-

ment of half my estate could give my charming
Olivia pleasure, it should be hers ; and the only favor
I would ask in return would be to add myself to the
benefit." I was not such a stranger to the world as
to be ignorant that this was the fashionable cant to
disguise the insolence of the basest proposal ; but I
made an effort to suppress my resentment. *'
Sir,"
cried I, "the family which you now condescend to
favor with your company, has been bred with as nice
a sense of honor as you. Any attempts to injure that,
may be attended with very dangerous consequences.
Honor, sir, is our only possession a.t present, and of
that last treasure we must be particularly careful."
I was soon sorry for the warmth with which I had
spoken this, when the young gentleman, grasping my
hand, swore he commended my spirit, though he dis-
approved my suspicions. " As to your present hint,"

continued he, " I protest nothing was farther from
my heart than such a thought. No, by all that 's
tempting, the virtue that will stand a regular siege

was never to my taste for all my amours are carried
;
by a coup-de-main."
The two ladies, who affected to be ignorant of the
rest, seemed highly displeased with this last stroke of
freedom, and began a very discreet and serious dia-

logue upon virtue ; in this my wife, the chaplain; and
I, soon joined ; and the Squire himself was at last
brought to confess a sense of his sorrow for his

former excesses. "We talked of the pleasures of
temperance, and of the sunshine in the mind unpol-

luted with guilt. I was so well pleased, that my
little ones were kept up beyond the usual time, to be
edified by so much good conversation. Mr. Thornhill
even went beyond me, and demanded if I had any
objection to giving prayers. I joyfully embraced the
proposal ; and in this manner the night was passed
in a most comfortable way, till at last the company
began to think of returning. The ladies seemed very

unwilling to part with my daughters, for whom they
had conceived a particular affection, and joined in a
request to have the pleasure of their company home.
The Squire seconded the proposal, and my wife
added her entreaties ; the girls too looked upon me
as if they wished to go. In this perplexity I made
two or three excuses, which my daughters as readily
removed so that at last I was obliged to give a
;
peremptory refusal for which we had nothing but

;
sullen looks and short answers the whole day ensuing.

CHAPTER X.
THE FAMILY ENDEAVORS TO COPE WITH THEIR

BETTERS. THE MISERIES OF THE POOR WHEN
THEY ATTEMPT TO APPEAR ABOVE THEIR CIR-
CUMSTANCES.
I NOW began to find, that all my long and painful

lectures upon temperance, simplicity, and content-
ment, were entirely disregarded. The distinctions
lately paid us by our betters awaked that pride

which I had laid asleep, but not removed. Our win-
dows, again, as formerly, were filled with washes for
the neck and face. The sun was dreaded as an
enemy to the skin without doors, and the fire as a
spoiler of the complexion within. My wife observed
that rising too early would hurt her daughters' eyes,
that working after dinnerwould redden their noses,
and she convinced me that the hands never looked so
white as when they did nothing. Instead therefore
of finishing George's shirts, we now had them new-
modeling their old gauzes, or flourishing upon catgut.
The poor Miss Flamboroughs, their former gay com-
panions, were cast off as mean acquaintances, and the
whole conversation ran upon high-life and high-lived
company, with pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the
musical glasses.
"
But we could have borne all this, had not a for-
tune-tellinggypsy come to raise us into perfect sub-
limity. The tawny sibyl no sooner appeared, than

my girls came running to me for a shilling a-piece to
cross her hand with silver. To say the truth I was

tired of being always wise, and could not help grati-
fying their request, because I loved to see them
happy. I gave each of them a shilling; though for
the honor of the family it must be observed, that
they never went without money themselves, as my
wife always let them have a guinea each, to keep in
their pockets, but with strict injunctions never to
change it. After they had been closeted up with the

fortune-teller for some time, I knew by their looks,
upon their returning, that they had been promised

something great. "Well, my girls, how have you
sped? Tell me, Livy, has the fortune-teller given
thee a pennyworth ? " "I protest, papa," says the
girl, " I believe she deals with somebody that 's not
right ; for she positively declared, that I am to be
married to a Squire in less than a twelvemonth !
" Well now Sophy, my child," said I, " and what sort
of a husband are you to have ? " " Sir," replied she,
" I am to have a Lord soon after my sister has mar-
ried the Squire." " How," cried I, " is that all you
are to have for your two shillings ? Only a Lord and

a Squire for two shillings You fools, I could have
!
promised you a Prince and a Nabob for half the

money."
This curiosity of theirs, however, was attended
with very serious effects : we now began to think
ourselves designed by the stars to something .exalted,

and already anticipated our future grandeur.
It has been a thousand times observed, and I must
observe it once more, that the hours we pass with
happy prospects in view, are more pleasing than
those crowned with fruition. In the first case we
cook the dish to our own appetite ! in the latter, nat-
ure cooks it for us. It is impossible to repeat the

train of agreeable reveries we called up for our en-
tertainment. We looked upon our fortunes as once

more rising ; and as the whole parish asserted that
the Squire was in love with my daughter, she was
actually so with him ; for they persuaded her into
the passion. In this agreeable interval, my wife had
the most lucky dreams in the world, which she took
care to tell us every morning with great solemnity
and exactness. was one night a coffin and cross
It
bones, the sign of an approaching wedding at an- ;
other time she imagined her daughter's pockets filled

with farthings, a certain sign of their being shortly
stuffed with gold. The girls themselves had their
omens. They felt strange kisses on their lips ; they
saw rings in the candle, purses bound from the fire,
and true love-knots lurked in the bottom of every
tea-cup.
Towards the end of the week we received a card
from the town ladies ; in which, with their compli-
ments, they hoped to see all our family at church the
Sunday following. All Saturday morning I could
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. b6
perceive, in consequence of this, my wife and daugh-

ters in close conference together, and now and then
glancing at me with looks that betrayed a latent plot.
To be sincere, I had strong suspicions that some ab-

surd proposal was preparing for appearing with
splendor the next day. In the evening they began
their operations in a very regular manner, and my
wife undertook to conduct the siege. After tea,
when I seemed in spirits, she began thus :

" I fancy,
Charles, my dear, we shall have a great deal of good

company at our church to-morrow." " Perhaps we
may, my dear," returned I, " though you need be
under no uneasiness about that, you shall have a ser-
mon whether there be or not." " That is what I ex-

pect," returned she ; " but I think, my dear, we ought
to appear there as decently as possible, for who
knows what may happen ? " " Your precautions,"
replied I, " are highly commendable. A decent be-
havior aiid appearance in church what charms me. is
We should be devout and humble, cheerful and se-

rene." " Yes," cried she, " I know that ; but I mean
we should go there in as proper a manner as possible ;
not altogether like the scrubs about us." " You are
quite right, my dear," returned I, "and I was going
to make the very same proposal. The proper man-
ner of going is, to go there as early as possible, to
have time for meditation before the service begins."
" Phoo, Charles," interrupted she, '"
all that is very
true ; but not what I would be at. I mean, we
should go there genteelly. You know the church is
;
two miles off, and I protest I don't like to see my

daughters trudging up to their pew all blowzed and
red with walking, and looking for all the world as if
they had been winners at a smock race. Now, my

dear, my proposal is this : there are our two plow
horses, the colt that has been in our family these nine
years, and his companion Blackberry, that has
scarcely done an earthly thing for this month past.
They are both grown fat and lazy. Why should
they not do something as well as we ? And let me
tell you, when Moses has trimmed them a little, they
will cut a very tolerable figure."
To this proposal I objected, that walking would be
twenty times more genteel than such a paltry con-
veyance, as Blackberry was wall-eyed, and the colt
wanted a tail : that they had never been broke to the
rein, but had a hundred vicious tricks : and that we
had but one saddle and pillion in the whole house.
All these objections, however, were overruled; so
that I was obliged to comply. The next morning I
perceived them not a little busy in collecting such
materials as might be necessary for the expedition
but, as I found it would be a business of time, I
walked on to the church before, and they promised
speedily to follow. I waited near an hour in the
reading desk for their arrival ; but not finding them
come as expected, I was obliged to begin, and went
through the service, not without some uneasiness at
findinij them absent. This was increased when all
was finished, and no appearance of the family. I

;
therefore walked back by the horse-way, which was

five miles round, though the foot-way was but two,
and when got about half way home, perceived the
procession marching slowly forwards towards the
church my son, my wife, and the two little ones,
;
ex-
alted on one horse, and my two daughters upon the
other. I demanded the cause of their delay ; but I
soon found by their looks they had met with a thou-
sand misfortunes on the road. The horses had at
first move from the door, till Mr. Burchell
refused to
was kind enough to beat them forward for about two
hundred yards with his cudgel. Next, the straps of
my wife's pillion broke down, and they were obliged
to stop to repair them before they could proceed.
After that, one of the horses took it into his head to
stand still, and neither blows nor entreaties could
prevail with him to proceed. He was just recover-
ing from his dismal situation when I found them
but perceiving everything safe, I own their present
mortification did not much displease me, as it would
give many opportunities of future triumph, and teach
my daughters more humility.
5
CHAPTER XI.
THE FAMILY STILL RESOLVE TO HOLD UP THEIR

HEADS.
Michaelmas Eve happeoing on the next day, we

were invited to burn nuts and play tricks at neighbor
Flamborough's. Our had hum-
late mortifications
bled us a little, or it we might have re-
is probable
jected such an invitation with contempt however, we :
suffered ourselves to be happy. Our honest neigh-

bor's goose and dumplings were fine, and the lamb's
wool, even in the opinion of my wife, who was a con-
noisseur, was excellent. It is true, his manner of
telling storieswas not quite so well. They were
very long, and very dull, and about himself and we
had laughed at them ten times before however, we ;
were kind enough to laugh at them once more.

Mr. Burchell, who was of the party, was always
fond of seeing some innocent amusement going for-
ward, and set the boys and girls to blind man's buff.
My wife too was persuaded to join in the diversion,
and it gave me pleasure to think she was not yet too
old. In the mean-time, my neighbor and I looked
on, laughed at every feat, and praised our own dex-
terity when we were young. Hot cockles succeeded
next, questions and commands followed that, and last

of all, they sat down to hunt the slipper. As every
person may not be acquainted with this primeval pas-
time, it may be necessary to observe, that the com-
pany at this play plant themselves in a ring upon the
ground, all except one who stands in the middle,
whose business it is to catch a shoe, which the com-
pany shove about under their hams from one to an-
other, something like a weaver's shuttle. As it is
impossible, in this case, for the lady who is up to face

all the company at once, the great beauty of the play
lies in hitting her a thump with the heel of the shoe
on that side least capable of making a defence. It
was in this manner that my eldest daughter was
hemmed in, and thumped about, all blowzed, in
spirits, and bawling for fair play, with a voice that
might deafen a ballad-singer, when, confusion on con-
fusion ! who should enter the room but our two great
acquaintances from town. Lady Blarney and Miss
Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs Description !
would but beggar, therefore it is unnecessary to de-

cribe this new mortification. Death! To be seen
by ladies of such high breeding in such vulgar atti-
tudes ! Nothing better could ensue from such a vul-
gar play of Mr. Flamborough's proposing. We
seemed struck to the ground for some time, as if act-
ually petrified with amazement.
The two ladies had been at our house to see us,
and finding us from home, came after us hither, as
they were uneasy to know what accident could have
:;
kept us from church the day before. Olivia under-

took to be our prolocutor, and delivered the whole
in a summary way, only saying, " We were thrown
from our horses." At which account the ladies were
greatly concerned ; but being told the family received
no hurt, they were extremely glad : but being in-
formed that we were almost killed by the fright, they
were vastly sorry but hearing that we had a very
:
good night, they were extremely glad again. Noth-

ing could exceed their complaisance to my daughters
their professions the last evening were warm, but now
they were ardent. They protested a desire of hav-
ing a more lasting acquaintance. Lady Blarney was
particularly attached to Olivia; Miss Carolina Wil-
helmina Amelia Skeggs (I love to give the whole
nîne) took a greater fancy to her sister. They sup-
ported the conversation between themselves, while my
daughters sat silent, admiring their exalted breed-
ing. But as every reader, however beggarly him-
self, is fond of high-lived dialogues, with anecdotes of
Lords, Ladies, and Knights of the Garter, I must beg
leave to give him the concluding part of the present
conversation.
"All that I know of the matter," cried Miss Skeggs,
" is this, that it may be true, or it may not be true
but this I can assure your Ladyship, that the rout

was in amaze ; his Lordship turned all manner of
colors, my Lady fell into a swoon, but Sir Tomkyn,
drawing his sword, swore he was her's to the last drop
of his blood."
YICAE OF WAKEFIELD. 69
" Well," replied our Peeress, "'

this I can say, that
the Duchess never told me a syllable of the matter,
and I believe her Grace would keep nothing a secret
from me. This you may depend upon as a fact, that
the next day my Lord Duke cried out three times to
his valet de chambre, Jernigan, Jernigan, Jernigan,
bring me my garters,"
But previously I should have mentioned the very,
impolite behavior of Mr. Burchell, who, during this
discourse, sat with his face turned to the fire, and at
the conclusion of every sentence would cry out
fudge ;^ an expression which displeased us all, and
insome measure damped the rising spirit of the con-
versation.
" Besides, my dear Skeggs," continued our Peeress,
" there is nothing of this in the copy of verses that
Dr. Burdock made upon the occasion." — Fudge!
"I am surprised at that," cried Miss Skeggs ;
" for
he seldom leaves anything out, as he writes only for
his own amusement. But can your Ladyship favor
me with a sight of them ? " —
Fudge 1
" My
dear creature," replied our Peeress, " do you
think I carry such things about me ? Though they
are very fine to be sure, and I think myself some-
thing of a judge at least I know what pleases my-
;
self. Indeed I was ever an admirer of all Dr. Bur-

dock's little pieces for, except what he does, and our
;
1 An expression of the utmost contempt, usually bestowed on

absurd or lying talkers. It probably was introduced in Gold-
smith's time, and is now common in colloquial language. —
Todd.
dear Countess at Hanover-square, there 's nothing

comes put but the most lowest stuff in nature ; not a
bit of high life among them." — Fudge !
"Your Ladyship should except," says t'other,

" your own things in the Lady's Magazine. I hope
you '11 say there 's nothing low-lived there ? But I
"
suppose we are to have no more from that quarter ?
— Fudge I
" Why, my dear," says the Lady, " you know my
reader and companion has left me, to be married to
Captain Roach, and as my poor eyes won't suffer me
to write myself, I have been for some time looking
out for another. A proper person is no easy matter
to find, and to be sure thirty pounds a year is a small
stipend for a well-bred girl of character, that can
read, write, and behave in company : as for the chits
about town, there is no bearing them about one." —
Fudge !
" That I know," cried Miss Skeggs, " by experi-
ence. For of the three companions I had this last

half-year one of them refused to do plain work an
hour in a day ; another thought twenty-five guineas
a year too small a salary, and I was obliged to send
away the third, because I suspected an intrigue with
the chaplain. Virtue, my dear Lady Blarney, virtue
'*
is worth any price ; but where is that to be found ?
— Fudge !
My wife had been for a long time all attention to

this discourse ; but was particularly struck with the
latter part of it. Thirty pounds and twenty -five guin-
eas a year, made fifty-six pounds five shillings Eng-

lish money, all which was in a manner going a-beg-
ging, and might easily be secured in the family. She
for a moment sudied my looks for approbation ; and,
to own a truth, I was of opinion that two such places
would fit our two daughters exactly. Besides, if the
Squire had any real affection for my eldest daughter,
this would be the way to make her every way qual-
ified for her fortune. My wife therefore was re-
solved that we should not be deprived of such advan-

tages for want of assurance, and undertook to harangue
for the family. ''
I hope," cried she, " your Ladyships
will pardon my present presumption. It is true, we
have no right to pretend to such favors ; but yet it is
natural for me to wish putting my children forward

in the world. And I will be bold to say my two
girls have had a pretty good education and capacity,
at least the country can't show better. They can
read, write, and cast accounts ; they understand their
needle, broadstitch, cross and change, and all man-
ner of plain work ; they can pink, point, and frill,
and know something of music they can do up small ;
clothes work upon catgut

; my eldest can cut paper,
!
and my youngest has a very pretty manner of telling

fortunes upon the cards." Fudge / —
When she had delivered this pretty piece of elo-
quence, the two ladies looked at each other a few min-
utes in silence with an air of doubt and importance.
At last Miss Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs con-
descended to observe, that the young ladies, from the
opinion she could form of them from so slight an ac-

quaintance, seemed very fit for such employments :
" But a thing of this kind, madam," cried she, address-
ing my spouse, "requires a thorough examination

into characters, and amore perfect knowledge of each
other. Not, madam," continued she, " that I in the
least suspect the young ladies' virtue, prudence, and
discretion ; but there is a form in those things,

madam, there is a form."
My wife approved her suspicions very much, ob-
serving that" she was very apt to be suspicious her-
self; but referred her to all the neighbors for a char-
acter : but this our Peeress declined as unnecessary,

alleging that her cousin Thornhill's recommendation
would be sufficient, and upon this we rested our peti-
tion.
;
CHAPTER XIL
FORTUNE SEEMS RESOLVED TO HUMBLE THE FAMILY
OF WAKEFIELD. MORTIFICATIONS ARE OFTEN
MORE PAINFUL THAN REAL CALAMITIES.
When we were returned home, the night was ded-

icated to schemes of future conquest. Deborah ex-
erted much sagacity in conjecturing which of the two
girls was likely to have the best place, and most op-
portunities of seeing good company. The only
obstacle to our preferment was in obtaining the
Squire's recommendation, but he had already shown
us too many instances of his friendship to doubt of it
now. Even in bed my wife kept up the usual theme

" "Well, faith, my dear Charles, between ourselves, I
think we have made an excellent day's work of it."
" Pretty well," cried I, not knowing what to say.
" What ! only pretty well !
" returned she. " I
think it is very well. Suppose the girls should come

to make acquaintances of taste in town ! This I am
assured of, that London is the only place in the world
for all manner of husbands. Besides, my dear,
stranger things happen every day ; and as ladies of
quality are so taken with my daughters, what will not
men of quality be ? Entre nous, I protest I like my
Lady Blarney vastly, so very obliging. However,

Miss Carolina Wilhemina Amelia Skeggs has my
warm But yet, when they came to talk of
heart.
places in town, you saw at once how I nailed them.
Tell me, my dear, don't you think I did for my chil-
dren there ? " " Ay," returned I, not knowing well
what to think of the matter. " Heaven grant they

"
may be both the better for it this day three mouths !
This was one of those observations I usually made to

impress my wife with an opinion of my sagacity ; for
if the girls succeeded, then it was a pious wish ful-
filled ; but if anything unfortunate ensued then it
might be looked upon as a prophecy. All this con-

versation, however, was only preparatory to another
scheme, and indeed I dreaded as much. This was
nothing less than that, as we were now to hold up
our heads a little higher in the world, it would be
proper to sell the colt, which was grown old, at a
neighboring and buy us a horse that would carry
fair,
single or double upon an occasion, and make a pretty

appearance at church, or upon a visit. This at first
I opposed stoutly ; but it was as stoutly defended.
However, as I weakened, my antagonists gained
strength, till at last was resolved to part with him.
it
As the fair happened on the following day, I had

intentions of going myself; but my wife persuaded
me that I had got a cold, and nothing could prevail
upon her to permit me from home. " No, my dear,"
said she, " our son Moses is a discreet boy, and can
buy and sell to a very good advantage you know all ;
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD; 75
our great bargains are of his purchasing. He always

stands out and higgles, and actually tires them till he
gets a bargain."
As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I
was willing enough to intrust him with his commis-
sion and the next morning I perceived his sisters
;
mighty busy in fitting out Moses for the fair ; trim-

ming his hair, brushing his buckles, and cocking his
hat with pins. The business of the toilet being over,
we had at last the satisfaction of seeing him mounted
upon the colt, with a deal box before him to bring
home groceries in. He had on a coat made of that
cloth they called thunder and lightning, which, though
grown too short, was much too good to be thrown
away. His waistcoat was of gosling green, and his
sisters had tied his hair with a broad black riband.
We all followed him several paces from the door,
bawling after him good luck, good hick, till we could
see him no longer.
He was scarcely gone, when Mr. Thornhill's butler
came to congratulate us upon our good fortune, say-
ing, that he overheard his young master mention our
names with great commendation.
Good fortune seemed resolved not to come alone.
Another footman from the same family followed, with
a card for my daughters, importing that the two
ladies had received such pleasing accounts from Mr.
Thornhill of us all, that, after a few previous inquir-
ies, they hoped to be perfectly satisfied. " Ay," cried
my wife, " I now see it is no easy matter to g^t into
the families of the great ; but when one once gets in,
then, as Moses says, one may go to sleep." To this
piece of humor, for she intended it for wit, my daugh-

ters assented with a loud laugh of pleasure. In short,
such was her satisfaction at this message, that she
actually put her hand in her pocket, and gave the
messenger sevenpence halfpenny.
This was to be our visiting day. The next that
came was Mr. Burchell, who had been at the fair.
He brought my little ones a pennyworth of ginger-
bread each, which my wife undertook to keep for
them, and give them by letters at a time. He brought
my daughters also a couple of boxes, in which they
might keep wafers, snufF, patches, or even money,
when they got it. My wife was usually fond of a
weasel-skin purse, as being the most lucky ; but this
by the bye. We had still a regard for Mr. Burchell,
though his late rude behavior was in some measure
displeasing ; nor could we now avoid communicating
our happiness to him, and asking his advice ; although
we seldom followed advice, we were all ready enough
to ask it. When he read the note from the two
ladies, he shook his head, and observed, that an affair
of this sort demanded the utmost circumspection.

This air of diffidence highly displeased my wife. " I
never doubted, sir," cried she, "your readiness to be

against my daughters and me. You have more cir-
cumspection than is wanted. However, I fancy when
we come to ask advice, we will apply to persons who
seem to have made use of it themselves." " Whatever
;
my own conduct may have been, madam," replied he,

" is not the present question ; though as I have made
no use of advice myself, I should in conscience give it
to those that will." As I was apprehensive this answer

might draw on a repartee, making up by abuse what
itwanted in wit, I changed the subject, by seeming
to wonder what could keep our son so long at the
fair, as it was now almost

Never mind
nightfall. "
our son," cried my wife, " depend upon
it he knows
what he is about. I '11 warrant we '11 never see him

sell his hen of a rainy day. I have seen him buy
such bargains as would amaze one. I '11 tell you a
good story about that, that will make you split your
sides with laughing.^ But as I live, yonder comes
Moses, without a horse and the box at his back."
As she spoke Moses came slowly on foot, and
sweating under the deal box, which he had strapped
round his shoulders like a pedler. " Welcome, wel-
come, Moses well, my boy, what have you brought
;
us from the fair ? " "I have brought you myself,"

cried Moses, with a sly look, and resting the box on
the dresser. " Ah, Moses," cried my wife, " that we
know but where is the horse ? " "I have sold him,"
;
cried Moses, " for three pounds five shillings and two-
pence." Well done, my good boy," returned she
"
" I knew you would touch them off. Between our-
This phrase, used as illustrative of the homeliness of the

1
speaker, was one of those untruly attributed as common to the

poet himself, by the retailers of anecdote who in this instance,
;
as in others, have turned his humor against himself.

selves, three pounds five shillings and twopence is no

bad day's work. Come let us have it then." " I
have brought back no money," cried Moses again.

" I have laid it all out on a bargain, and here it is,"
pulling out a bundle from his breast :

" here they
are ; a gross of green spectacles, with silver rims and

"
shagreen cases." " A
gross of green spectacles !
repeated my wife in a faint voice. " And you have

parted with the colt, and brought us back nothing
but a gross of green paltry spectacles !
" " Dear
mother," cried the boy, " why won't you listen to
reason ? I had them a dead bargain, or I should not
have bought them. The silver rims alone will sell
for double the money." " A fig for the silver rims,"
cried my wife in a passion :
" I dare swear they won't
sell for above half the money at the rate of broken

silver, five shillings an ounce." " You need be under
no uneasiness," cried I, " about selling the rims, for
they are not worth sixpence ; for I perceive they are
only copper varnished over." " What," cried my

wife, " not silver ! the rims not silver !
" " No," cried
I, "no more silver than your saucepan." "And so,"
returned she, " we have parted with the colt, and have
only got a gross of green spectacles, with copper rims
and shagreen cases ! A murrain take such trumpery.
The blockhead has been imposed upon, and should
have known his company better." " There, my
dear," cried I, " you are wrong, he should not have

known them at all." " Marry, hang the idiot," re-
turned she, " to brinof me such stuff; if I had them I
\
YICAE OF WAKEFIELD. 79
would throw them in the fire/' " Tliere again you

are wrong, my dear," cried I ;
" for though they be
copper, we will keep them by us, as copper spectacles,
you know, are better than nothing."
By this time the unfortunate Moses was unde-
ceived. He now saw that he had been imposed upon
by a prowling sharper, who observing his figure, had
marked him for an easy prey. I therefore asked the
circumstance of his deception. He sold the horse, it
seems, and walked the fair in search of another. A

reverend looking man brought him to a tent, under a
pretence of having one to sell. " Here," continued
Moses, " we met another man, very well dressed, who

desired to borrow twenty pounds upon these, saying
that he wanted money, and would dispose of them for
a third of their value. The first gentleman, who pre-
tended to be my friend, whispered me to buy them,
and cautioned me not to let so good an offer pass. I
sent for Mr. Flamborough, and they talked him up as
finely as they did me, and so at last we were per-
suaded to buy the two gross betwieen us."
CHAPTER XIII.
MR. BURCHELL IS FOUND TO BE AN ENEMY; FOR HE

HAS THE CONFIDENCE TO GIVE DISAGREEABLE
ADVICE.
Our family had now made several attempts to be

fine ; but some unforeseen disaster demolished each as
soon as projected. I endeavored to take the advan-
tage of every disappointment, to improve their good
sense in proportion as they were frustrated in ambi-
tion. " You see, my children," cried I, " how little is
to be got by attempts to impose upon the world, in

coping with our betters. Such as are poor, and will
associate with none but the rich, are hated by those

they avoid, and despised by those they follow. Un-
equal combinations are always disadvantageous to the
weaker side : the rich having the pleasure, and the
poor the inconveniences that result from them. But
come, Dick, my boy, and repeat the fable that you
were reading to-day, for the good of the company."
" Once upon a time," cried the child, " a Giant and
a Dwarf were friends and kept together. They made

a bargain that they would never forsake each other,
but go seek adventures. The first battle they fought
was with two Saracens, and the Dwarf, who was very
courageous, dealt one of the champions a most angry-

blow. It did the Saracen very little injury, who, lift-
ing up his sword, fairly struck off the poor Dwarf's
arm. He was now in a woeful plight ; but the Giant
coming to his assistance, in a short time left the two
Saracens dead on the plain, and the Dwarf cut off the
dead man's head out of spite. They then traveled on

to another adventure. This was against three bloody-
minded Satyrs,who were carrying away a damsel in
distress. The Dwarf was not quite so fierce now as
before but for all that struck the first blow, which
;
was returned by another, that knocked out his eye ;
but the giant was soon up with them, and had they
not fled, would certainly have killed them every one.
They were all very joyful for this victory, and the
damsel who was relieved fell in love with the Giant,
and married him. They now traveled far, and farther
than I can tell, till they met with a company of rob-
bers. The Giant, for the first time, was foremost
now but the dwarf was not far behind. The battle
;
was stout and long. Wherever the Giant came, all

fell before him but the Dwarf had like to have been
;
killed more than once. At last the victory declared

for the two adventurers but the Dwarf lost his leg.
;
The Dwarf was now without an arm, a leg, and an

eye, while the Giant was without a single wound.
Upon which he cried out to his little companion, my
little hero, this is glorious sport ! let us get one vic-
tory more, and then we shall have honor forever.
No, cries the dwarf, who was by this time grown
;:;
82 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. ^
wiser, no, I declare off; I '11 jSght no more : for I find

in every battle that you get all the honor and rewards,
but all the blows fall upon me."
I was going to moralize this fable, when our atten-
tion was called off to a warm dispute between my
wife and Mr. Burchell, upon my daughters' intended
expedition to town. My wife very strenuously in-
sisted upon the advantages that would result from it
Mr. Burchell, on the contrary, dissuaded her with
great ardor, and I stood neuter. His present dissua-
sions seemed but the second part of those which were
received with so ill a grace in the morning. The dis-
pute grew high, while poor Deborah, instead of rea-

soning stronger, talked louder, and at last was obliged
to take shelter fiôm a defeat in clamor. The conclu-
sion of her harangue, however, was highly displeasing
to us all : she knew, she said, of some who had their
own secret reasons for what they advised ; but, for
her part, she wished such to stay from her house for
the future. " Madam," cried Burchell, with looks
of great composure, which tended to inflame her more,
" as for secret reasons, you are right ; I have secret
reasons,which I forbear to mention, because you are
not able to answer those of which I make no secret
but I find my visits here are become troublesome
I '11 takemy leave therefore now, and perhaps come
once more to take a final farewell, when I am quitting
the country." Thus saying he took up his hat, nor
could the attempts of Sophia, whose looks seemed to
upbraid his precipitancy, prevent his going.
When gone, we all regarded each other for some

minutes with confusion. My wife, who knew herself
to be the cause, strove to hide her concern with a
forced smile, and an air of assurance, which I was
willing to reprove : " How, woman," cried I to her,
" is it thus we treat strangers ? Is it thus we return
their kindness ? Be assured, my dear, that these were
the harshest words, and to me the most un pleasing
that ever escaped your lips !
" " Why would he pro-
voke me, then ? " replied she ;
" but I know the mo-
tives of his advice perfectly well. He
would prevent
my girls from going to town, that he may have the
pleasure of my youngest
daughter's company here at
home. But whatever happens, she shall choose bet-
ter company than such low-lived fellows as he."
" Low-lived, my dear, do you call him ? " cried I " it ;
is very possible we may mistake this man's character,

for he seems upon some occasions the most finished
gentleman I ever knew. Tell me, Sophia, my girl,
has he ever given you any secret instances of his at-
tachment ? " " His conversation with me, sir," replied
my daughter, " has ever been sensible, modest, and

pleasing. As to aught else, no, never. Once, indeed,
I remember to have heard him say, he never knew a
woman who could find merit in a man that seemed
poor." " Such, my dear," cried I, " is the common
cant of all the unfortunate or idle. But I hope you
have been taught to judge properly of such men, and
that it would be even madness to expect happiness
from one who has been so very bad an economist of
his own. Your mother and I have now better pros-

pects for you. The next winter, which you will prob-
ably spend in town, will give you opportunities of
making a more prudent choice."
What Sophia's reflections were upon this occasion
I can't pretend to determine ; but I was not displeased

at the bottom, that we were rid of a guest from whom
I had much to fear. Our breach of hospitality went
to my conscience a little ; but I quickly silenced that
monitor by two or three specious reasons, which
served to satisfy and reconcile me to myself. The
pain which conscience gives the man who has already
done wrong, is soon got over. Conscience is a cow-
ard, and those faults it has not strength enough to
prevent, it seldom has justice enough to accuse.
CHAPTER XIV.
FRESH MORTIFICATIONS, OR A DEMONSTRATION

THAT SEEMING CALAMITIES MAT BE REAL BLESS-
INGS.
The journey of my daughters to town was now

resolved upon, Mr. Thornhill having kindly promised
to inspect their conduct himself, and inform us by
letter of their behavior. But it was thought indis-
pensably necessary that their appearance should
equal the greatness of their expectations, which
could not be done without expense. We debated
therefore in full council what were the easiest meth-
ods of raising money, or, more properly speaking,
what we could most conveniently sell. The deliber-
ation was soon finished it was found that our re-
;
maining horse was utterly useless for the plow, with-

out his companion, and equally unfit for the road, as
wanting an eye it was therefore determined
; that
we should dispose of him for the purposes above
mentioned, at the neighboring fair, and, to prevent
imposition, that I should him myself.
go with
Though this was one of the first mercantile transac-
tions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting
myself with reputation. The opinion a man forms

of his own prudence is measured by that of the com-

pany he keeps ; and as mine was mostly in the family
way, I had conceived no unfavorable sentiments of

my worldly wisdom. My wife, however, next morn-
ing, at parting, after I had got some paces from the
door, called me back, to advise me, in a whisper, to
have all my eyes about me.
I had, in the usual forms, when I came to the fair,
put my horse through all his paces ; but for some
time had no bidders. At last a chapman approached,
and after good while examined the
he had for a
horse round, finding him blind of one eye, he would
have nothing to say to him : a second came up, but
observing he had a spavin, declared he would not
take him for the driving home : a third perceived he
had a windgall, and would bid no money : a fourth
knew by his eye that he had the botts ; a fifth won-
dered what the plague I could do at the fair with a
blind, spavined, galled hack, that was only fit to be
cut up for a dog-kennel. By this time I began to
have a most hearty contempt for the poor animal my-
self, and was almost ashamed at the approach of
every customer ; for though I did not entirely believe
all the fellows told me, yet I reflected that the num-
ber of witnesses was a strong presumption they were
right ; and St. Gregory, upon Good Works, professes
himself to be of the same opinion.
I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother
clergyman, an old acquaintance, who had also busi-
ness at the fair, came up, and shaking me by the
hand, proposed adjourning to a public-house, and tak-

ing a glass of whatever we could get. I readily-
closed with the offer, and entering an ale-house, we

were shown into a little back room, where there was
only a venerable old man, who sat wholly intent over
a large book, which he was reading. I never in my

life saw a figure that prepossessed me more favora-
bly. His locks of silver gray venerably shaded his
temples, and his green old age seemed to be the re-
sult of health and benevolence. However, his pres-
ence did not interrupt our conversation; my friend

and I discoursed on the various turns of fortune we
had met; the Whistonian controversy, my last
phamphlet, the arch-deacon's reply, and the hard
measure that was dealt me. But our attention was
in a short time taken off by the appearance of a
youth, who, entering the room, respectfully said
something softly to the old stranger. " Make no
apologies, my child," said the old man, " to do good
is a duty we owe to all our fellow-creatures ; take
this, I wish it were more ; but five pounds will re-
lieveyour distress, and you are welcome." The
modest youth shed tears of gratitude, and yet his
welcome was scarcely equal to mine. I could have
hugged the good old man in my arms, his benevo-
lence pleased me so. He continued to read, and we
resumed our conversation, until my companion, after
some time, recollecting that he had some business to
transact in the fair, promised to be soon back ; add-

ing, that he always desired to have as much of Dr.
Primrose's company as possible. The old gentleman

hearing my name mentioned, seemed to look at me
with attention for some time, and when my friend
was gone, most respectfully demanded if I was any
way related to the great Primrose, that courageous
monogamist, who had been the bulwark of the
church. Never did my heart feel sincerer rapture
than at that moment. " Sir," cried I, " the applause
of so good a man as I am sure you are, adds to that

happiness in my breast which your benevolence has
already excited. You behold before you, sir, that
Dr. Primrose, the monogamist, whom you have been
pleased to call great. You here see that unfortunate
divine, who has so long, and it would ill become me
to say, successfully, fought against the deuterogamy
of the age." " Sir," cried the stranger, struck with
awe, " I fear I have been too familiar ; but you '11
forgive my curiosity, sir : I beg pardon." " Sir,"
cried I, grasping his hand, " you are so far from dis-
pleasing me by your familiarity, that I must beg

you '11 accept my friendship, as you already have my
esteem." " Then with gratitude I accept the offer,"
cried he, squeezing me by the hand, " thou glorious
pillar of unshaken orthodoxy ! and do I behold " —
I here interrupted what he was going to say ; for
though, as an author, I could digest no small share

of flattery, yet now my modesty would permit no
more. However, no lovers in romance ever cemented
a more instantaneous friendship. We talked upon
several subjects : at first I thought he seemed rather
VICAE OF WAKEriELD. 89
devout than learned, and began to think he despised

all human doctrines as dross. Yet this no way les-
sened him in my esteem ; for I had for some time
begun privately to harbor such an opinion myself. I
therefore took occasion to observe, that the world in
general began to be blamably indifferent as to doc-
trinal matters, and followed human speculations too
much. " Ay, sir," replied he, as if he had re-
served all his learning to that moment, "Ay, sir,
the world is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or
creation of the world has puzzled philosophers of all
ages. What a medley of opinions have they not

broached upon the creation of the world ! Sancho-
niathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus,
have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these
words, Anarchon ara hai alelutaion to pan, which im-

ply that all things have neither beginning nor end.
Manetho also, who lived about the time of Nebu-
chadon-Asser, —'Asser being a Syriac word usually
applied as a surname to the kings of that country,
as Teglat Phael-Asser, Nabon- Asser, — he, I say,
formed a conjecture equally absurd for, as we usu- ;
ally say, ek to hiUion Tauhernetes, which implies that

books will never teach the world ; so he attempted
to investigate — But, sir, I ask pardon, I am stray-
ing from the question." That he actually was ; nor

could I for my life see how the creation of the
world had anything to do with the business I was
talking of; but it was sufficient to show me that he
was a man of letters, and I now reverenced him the
more. I was resolved therefore to bring him to the

touchstone ; but he was too mild and too gentle to
contend for victory. Whenever I made an observa-
tion that looked like a challenge to controversy, he
would smile, shake his head, and say nothing ; by
which, I understood he could say much, if he thought
projDcr. The subject therefore insensibly changed
from the business of antiquity to that which brought
us both to the fair : mine, I told him, was to sell a
horse, and very luckily indeed, his was to buy one
for one of his tenants. My horse was soon pro-
duced, and in fine we struck a bargain. Nothing
now remained but to pay me, and he accordingly
pulled out a thirty pound note, and bid me change it.
Not being in a capacity of complying with this de-
mand, he ordered his footman to be called up, who

made his appearance in a very genteel livery. " Here,
Abraham," cried he, " go and get gold for this ; you'll
do it at neighbor Jackson's or anywhere." While the
fellow was gone, he entertained me with a pathetic
harangue on the great scarcity of silver, which I un-
dertook to improve, by deploring also the great
scarcity of gold ; so that by the time Abraham re-
turned, we had both agreed that money was never
so hard to be come at as now. Abraham returned
to inform us, that he had been over the whole fair,
and could not get change, though he had offered half

a crown for doing it. This was a very great disap-
pointment to us all ; but the old gentleman, having
paused a little, asked me if I knew one Solomon
Flamborough in my part of the country. Upon re-
plying that he was my next-door neighbor ;

" If that
be the case then," returned he, " I believe we shall
deal. You shall have a draft upon him, payable at
sight ; and let me tell you, he is as warm a man as
any within five miles round him. Honest Solomon

and I have been acquainted many years together. I
remember I always beat him at three jumps but he ;
could hop on one leg farther than I." A draft upon

my neighbor was to me the same as money ; for I
was sufficiently convinced of his ability. The draft
was signed, and put into my hands, and Mr. Jenkin-

son, the old gentleman, his man Abraham, and my
horse, old Blackberry, trotted off very well pleased
with each other.
After a short interval, being left to reflection, I
began had done wrong in taking a

to recollect that I
draft from a stranger, and so prudently resolved upon
following the purchaser, and having back my horse.
But this was now too late : I therefore made directly
homewards, resolving to get the draft changed into
money at my friend's as fast as possible. I found my
honest neighbor smoking his pipe at his own door,
and informing him that I had a small bill upon him,
he read it twice over. " You can read the name, I
suppose," cried I, " Ephraim Jenkinson." " Yes,"
returned he, " the name is written plain enough, and

I know the gentleman too, the greatest rascal under
the canopy of heaven. This is the very same rogue
who sold us the spectacles. Was he not a venerable
looking man, with great hair, and no flaps to his
pocket-holes? And did he not talk a long string

of learning about Greek, and cosmogony, and the
world ? " To this I replied with a groan. " Ay,"
continued he, " he has but that one piece of learning
in the world, and he always talks it away whenever
he finds a scholar in the company ; but I know the
rogue, and will catch him yet."
Though I was already sufficiently mortified, my
greatest struggle was to come, in facing my wife and
daughters. No truant was ever more afraid of re-
turning to school, there to behold the master's visage,
than I was of going home. I was determined, how-
ever, to anticipate their fury, by first falling into a
passion myself.
But alas ! upon entering, I found the family no
way disposed for battle. My wife and girls were all
in tears, Mr. Thornhill having been there that day to

inform them that their journey to town was entirely
over. The two ladies having he^v^d reports of us
from some malicious person about us, were that day
set out for London. He could neither discover the
tendency, nor the author of these ; but whatever they
might whoever might have broached them, he
be, or
continued to assure our family of his friendship and
protection. I found, therefore, that they bore my
disappointment with great was
resignation, as it
eclipsed in the greatness of their own. But what

perplexed us most, was to think who could be so
base as to asperse the character of a family so harm-
less as ours, too humble to excite envy, and too in-
offensive to create disgust.
:
CHAPTER XV.
ALL BURCHELL'S VILLAINY AT ONCE DE-
MR.
TECTED. THE FOLLY OF BEING OVER WISE.
That evening, and a part of the following day, was

employed in fruitless attempts to discover our ene-
scarcely a family in the neighborhood but
in-
mies :
curred our suspicions, and each of us had reasons for
our opinions best known to ourselves. As we were

in this perplexity, one of our little boys,who had
which
been playing abroad, brought in a letter-case,
he found on the green. It was quickly known to be-
long to Mr. Burchell, with whom it had been seen,
upon examination, contained some hints upon

and,
different subjects but what particularly engaged our
;
attention was a sealed note, superscribed, The

copy of
Thornhill Castle.
a letter to he sent to the two ladies at
he was the base informer,

It instantly occurred that
and we deliberated whether the note should not be
broke open. I was against it but Sophia, who said
;
she was sure that of all men he would be the last to

being
be guilty of so much baseness, insisted upon its
In this she was seconded by the rest of the
read.
family, and at their joint solicitation I read
as fol-
lows
" Ladies : — The bearer will sufficiently satisfy
you as to the person from whom this comes : one at

least the friend of innocence, and ready to prevent its
being seduced. I am informed for a truth, that you
have some intention of bringing two young ladies to
town, whom I have some knowledge of, under the
character of companions. As I would neither have
simplicity imposed upon, nor .virtue contaminated, I
must offer it as my opinion, that the impropriety of
such a step will be attended with dangerous conse-
quences. It has never been my way to treat the in-
famous or the lewd with severity ; nor should 1 now
have taken method of explaining myself, or re-
this
proving folly, did it not aim at guilt. Take therefore

the admonition of a friend, and seriously reflect on
the consequences of introducing infamy and vice into
retreats, where peace and innocence have hitherto
resided."
Our doubts were now at an end. There seemed

indeed something applicable to both sides in this
letter, and its censures might as well be referred to
those to whom it was written, as to us but the ma- ;
licious meaning was obvious, and we went no farther.

My wife had scarcely patience to hear me to the end,
but railed at the writer with unrestrained resentment.
Olivia was equally severe, and Sophia seemed per-
fectly amazed at his baseness. As for my part, it
appeared to me one of the vilest instances of unpro-

voked ingratitude I had met with; nor could I ac-
count for it in any other manner than by imputing it
to his desire of detaining my youngest daughter in

the country, to have the more frequent opportunities of
an interview. In this manner we all sat ruminating
upon schemes of vengeance, when the other little boy
came running in to tell us that Mr. Burchell was ap-
proaching at the other end of the field. It is easier
to conceive than describe the complicated sensations
which are felt from the pain of a recent injury, and
the pleasure of an approaching vengeance. Though
our intentions were only to upbraid him with his in-
gratitude, yet it was resolved to do it in a manner
that would be perfectly cutting. For this purpose we
agreed to meet him with our usual smiles ; to chat in
the beginning with more than ordinary kindness to ;
amuse him a little and then,

; in the midst of the flat-
tering calm, to burst upon him like an earthquake,

and overwhelm him with a sense of his own baseness.
This being resolved upon, my wife undertook to man-
age the business herself, as she really had some tal-
ents for such an undertaking. We saw him approach ;
he entered, drew a chair, and sat down. " fine A

day, Mr. Burchell." very fine "A
day. Doctor;
though I fancy we shall have some rain by the shoot-
"
ing of my corns." " The shooting of your horns !
cried my wife in a loud fit of laughter, and then asked

pardon for being fond of a joke. " Dear madam,"
replied he, " I pardon you with all my heart, for I
protest I should not have thought it a joke had you

not told me." " Perhaps not, sir," cried my wife,
;
96 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD,
winking at us ;
''
and yet I dare say you can tell us
how many jokes go to an ounce." " I fancy, madam,"
returned Burchell, " you have been reading a jest
book this morning, that ounce of jokes is so very
good a conceit and ; yet, madam, I had rather see
half an ounce of understanding." "I believe you
might," cried my wife, still smiling at us, though the
laugh was against her ;
" and yet I have seen some
men pretend to understanding that have very little."
" And no doubt," returned her antagonist, " you have

known ladies set up for wit that had none." I quickly
began to find that my wife was likely to gain but
little at this business ; so I resolved to treat him in a
style of more severity myself. " Both wit and under-
standing," cried I, " are trifles without integrity ; it is
that which gives value to every character. The ig-
norant peasant without fault, is greater than the phi-

losopher with many ; for what is genius or courage
without a heart ? An honest man is the noblest work
of Godr
" I always held that hackneyed maxim of Pope,"
returned Mr. Burchell, " as very unworthy a man of
genius, and a base desertion of his own superiority.
As the reputation of books is raised, not by their free-
dom from defect, but the greatness of their beauties
so should that of men be prized, not for their exemp-
tion from fault, but the size of those virtues they are
possessed of. The scholar may want prudence, the
statesman may have pride, and the champion ferocity ;
but shall we prefer to these the low mechanic, who

laboriously plods through life without censure or ap-

plause ? We might as well prefer the tame correct
paintings of the Flemish school, to the erroneous but
sublime animations of the Roman pencil."
" Sir," replied I, " your present observation is just,
when there are shining virtues and minute defects ;
but when it appears that great vices are opposed in

the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a
character deserves contempt."
" Perhaps," cried he, " there may be some such
monster as you describe, of great vices joined to great
virtues ; yet in my progress through life, I never yet

found one instance of their existence ; on the contrary,
I have ever perceived, that where the mind was capa-
cious, the affections were good. And indeed Prov-
idence seems kindly our friend in this particular,
thus to debilitate the understanding where the heart

is corrupt, and diminish the power, where there is
the will to do mischief. This rule seems to extend

even to other animals ; the little vermin race are ever
treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, whilst those en-
dowed with strength and power, are generous, brave,
and gentle."
" These observations. sound well," returned I, "and
yet it would be easy this moment to point out a man,"
and I fixed my eyes steadfastly upon him, "whose
head and heart form a most detestable contrast. Ay,
sir," continued I, raising my voice, " and I am glad
to have this opportunity of detecting him in the midst

of his fancied security. Do you know this, sir, this
7
pocket-book ? " " Yes, sir," returned he, with a face
of impenetrable assurance, " that pocket-book is mine,

and I am glad you have found it." " And do you
know," cried I, " this letter? Nay, never man
falter, ;
but look me full in the face : I say do you know this

letter ? " " That letter," returned he, " yes, it was I
that wrote that letter." "And how could you," said
I, " so basely, so ungratefully presume to write this
letter ? " " And how came you," rei^lied he, with
looks of unparalleled effrontery, " so basely to pre-
sume to break open this letter? Don't you know,
now, I could hang you all for this ? All that I have
to do is to swear at the next Justice's, that you have
been guilty of breaking open the lock of my pocket-
book, and so hang you all up at this door." This
piece of unexpected insolence raised me to such a
pitch, that 1 could scarcely govern my passion. " Un-
grateful wretch ! begone, and no longer pollute my
dwelling with thy baseness ! begone, and never let
me see thee again ! Go from my door, and the only

punishment I wish thee is an alarmed conscience,
!
which will be a sufficient tormentor " So saying, I
threw him his pocket-book, which he took up with a
smile, and shutting the clasps with the utmost com-
posure, left us, quite astonished at the serenity of his
assurance. My wife was particularly enraged that
nothing could make him angry, or make him seem
ashamed of his villainies. " My dear," cried I, will-
ing to calm those passions that had been raised too

high among us, " we are not surprised that bad men
want shame ; they only blush at being detected in

doing good, but glory in their vices.
" Guilt and shame, says the allegory, were at first
companions, and in the beginning of their journey,

inseparably kept together. But their union was soon
found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both.
Guilt gave Shame frequent uneasiness, and Shame
often betrayed the secret conspiracies of Guilt. After
long disagreement, therefore, they at length consented
to part forever. Guilt boldly walked forward alone,
to overtake Fate, that went before in the shape of an
executioner ; but Shame being naturally timorous,
returned back to keep company with Virtue, which
in the beginning of their journey they had left be-
hind. Thus, my children, aftermen have traveled
through a few stages in vice. Shame forsakes them,
and returns back to wait upon the few virtues they
have still remaining." ^
1 " They no longer continue to have shame at doing evil, and
shame attends only upon their virtues." —
First Edit.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FAMILY USE ART, WHICH IS OPPOSED WITH

STILL GREATER.
Whatever might have been Sophia's sensations,

the rest of the family was easily consoled for Mr.
Burchell's absence by the company of our landlord,
whose visits now became more frequent, and longer.
Though he had been disappointed in procuring my
daughters the amusements of the town as he designed,
he took every opportunity of supplying them with
those little recreations which our retirement would
admit of. He usually came in the morning, and
while my son and I followed our occupations abroad,
he sat with the family at home, and amused them by
describing the town, with every part of which he was
particularly acquainted. He could repeat all the ob-
servations that were retailed in the atmosphere of the
play houses, and had all the good things of the high
wits by rote, long before they made their way into
the jest books. The intervals between conversation
were employed in teaching my daughters piquet, or
sometimes in setting my two little ones to box, to
make them sharp, as he called it : but the hopes of
having him for a son-in-law, in some measure blinded
:
US to all his imperfections. It must be owned that

my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him or,
;
to speak more tenderly, used every art to magnify

the merit of her daughter. If the cakes at tea eat
short and crisp, they were made by Olivia; if the
gooseberry wine was well knit, the gooseberries were

of her gathering ; it was her fingers which gave the
pickles their peculiar green and in the composition
;
of a pudding, was her judgment that mixed the

it
ingredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes

tell the Squire, that she thought him and
Olivia ex-
tremely of a size, and would bid both stand up to see

which was tallest. These instances of cunning, which
she thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw
through, were very pleasing to our benefactor, who
gave every day some new proofs of his passion,
which, though they had not arisen to proposals of
marriage, yet we thought fell but little short of it
and hisslowness was attributed sometimes to native
bashfulness, and sometimes to the fear of offending his
uncle. An occurrence, however, which happened soon
put beyond a doubt that he designed to be-
after,
come one of our family my wife even regarded it as

;
an absolute promise.
My wife and daughters happening to return a visit
to neighbor Flamborough's, found that family
had
lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who
traveled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen
shillings a head. As this family and ours had long a
sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the
alarm at this stolen march upon us, and notwithstand-

ing all I could say, and I said much, it was resolved
that we should have our pictures done too. Having,
therefore, engaged the limner, — for what could I do ?
our next deliberation was, to show the superiority of

taste in the attitudes. As for our neighbor's family,
there were seven of them, and they were drawn with
seven oranges, a thing quite out of taste, no variety
in life, no composition in the world. We desired to
have something in a brighter style, and after many
debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution
of being drawn together in one large historical family
piece. This would be cheaper, since one frame
would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more
genteel ; for all families of any taste were now drawn
in the same manner. As we did not immediately
recollect an historical subject to hit us, we were con-
tented each with being drawn as independent histori-
cal figures. My wife desired to be represented as
Venus, and the painter was desired not to be too fru-
gal of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her
two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side,
while I, in my gown and band, was to present her

with my books on the Whistonian controversy.
Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon sitting upon
a bank of flowers, dressed in a green Joseph, richly
laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia
was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the
painter could put in for nothing ; and Moses was to
be dressed out with a hat and white feather. Our

taste so much pleased the Squire, that he insisted on

being put in as one of the family in the character of
Alexander the Great, at Olivia's feet. This was con-
sidered by usall as an indication of his desire to be
introduced into the family, nor could we refuse his
request. The painter was therefore set to work, and
as he wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less
than four days the whole was completed. The piece

was large, and itmust be owned he did not spare his
colors ; for which my wife gave him great encomiums.
We were all perfectly satisfied with his performance ;
but an unfortunate circumstance had not occurred till
the picture was finished, which now struck us with

dismay. It was so very large that we had no place
in the house to fix it. How we all came to disre-
gard so material a point is inconceivable ; but cer-

tain it is, we had been all greatly remiss. The pic-
ture, therefore, instead of gratifying our vanity, as we

hoped, leaned in a most mortifying manner against
the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched and
painted, much too large to be got through any of the
doors, and the jest of all our neighbors. One com-
pared it to Robinson Crusoe's long-boat, too large
to be removed ; another thought it more resembled
a reel in a bottle : some wondered how it could be

got out, but still more were amazed how it ever
got in.
But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effec-
tually raised more malicious suggestions in many.

The Squire's portrait being found united with ours
was an honor too great to escape envy. Scandalous

whispers began to circulate at our expense, and our
tranquillity was continually disturbed by persons who
came as friends to tell us what was said of us by ene-
mies. These reports we always resented, with be-
coming spirit ; but scandal ever improves by opposi-
tion.
"We once again, therefore, entered into a consulta-

tion upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and at
last came to a resolution which had too much cun-
ning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this : as
our principal object was to discover the honor of Mr.
Thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to sound
him, by pretending to ask his advice in the choice of
a husband for her eldest daughter. If this was not
found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was
then resolved to terrify him with a rival. To this
last step, however, I would by no means give my con-

sent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn assurances
that shewould marry the person provided to rival
him upon this occasion, if he did not prevent it, by
taking her himself. Such was the scheme laid,
which, though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not
entirely approve.
The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came
to see us, my girls took care to be out of the way, in
order to give theirmamma an opportunity of putting
their scheme into execution but they only retired to
;
the next room, whence they could overhear the whole

conversation. My wife artfully introduced it, by ob-
:
serving, that one of the Miss Flamboroaghs was like

to have a good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To this
the Squire assenting, she proceeded to remark, that

they who had warm fortunes were always sure of
getting good husbands :
" But heaven help," continued
she, " the girls that have none. What signifies
beauty, Mr. Thornhill ? or what signifies all the vir-

tue, and all the qualifications in the world, in this age
of self-interest ? It is not, what is she ? but, what has
she ? is all the cry."
" Madam," returned he, " I highly approve the jus-
tice, as well as the novelty of your remarks, and if I

were a king it should be otherwise. It should, then,
indeed, be fine times with the girls without fortunes
our two young ladies should be the first for whom I
would provide."
" Ah, sir," returned my wife, " you are pleased to
be facetious but I wish I were a queen, and then I
know where my eldest daughter should look for a
husband. But, now you have put it into my
that
head, seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you recommend
me a proper husband for her ? she is now nineteen
years old, well grown and well educated, and, in my
humble opinion, does not want for parts."
" Madam," replied he, " if I were to choose, I would
find out a person possessed of every accomplishment

that can make an angel happy. One with prudence,
fortune, taste, and sincerity; such madam, would be,
in my opinion, the proper husband." " Ay, sir," said
she, " but do you know of any such person ? " " No,
madam," returned he, " it is imjDossible to know any
person that deserves to be her husband : she 's too
great a treasure for one man's possession ; she 's a
goddess ! Upon my soul, I speak what I think, she 's
an angel " " Ah, Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter
!
my poor girl but we have been thinking of marry-

;
ing her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately
dead, and who wants a manager you know whom I ;
mean, farmer Williams a warm man, Mr. Thornhill,

;
able to give her good bread and who has several ;
times made her proposals (which was actually the

case) ; but, sir," concluded she, " I should be glad
to 'have your approbation of our choice." "How,
madam," replied he, " my approbation ! My appro-
bation of such a choice ! Never. What ! sacrifice so
much beauty, and sense, and goodness, to a creature

insensible of the blessing! Excuse me, I can never
approve of such a piece of And I have my
injustice !
reasons." "Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "if you

have your reasons that's another affair : but I should
be glad to know these reasons." " Excuse me,
madam," returned he, " they lie too deep for discov-
ery (laying his hand upon his bosom) they remain ;
buried, riveted here."

After he was gone, upon a general consultation,
we could not tell what to make of these fine senti-
ments. Olivia considered them as instances of the
most exalted passion ; but I was not quite so san-
guine it seemed to me pretty plain, that they had

;
more of love than matrimony in them yet whatever

:
they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the

scheme of farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's
first appearance in the country, had paid her his
addresses.
CHAPTER XVII.
SCARCELY ANY VIRTUE FOUND TO RESIST THE

POWER OF LONG AND PLEASING TEMPTATION.
As I only studied my child's real happiness, the
assiduity of Mr. Williams pleased me, as he was in

easy circumstances, prudent, and sincere. It required
but very little encouragement to revive his former
passion so that in an evening or two he and Mr.
;
Thornhill met at our house, and surveyed each other

forsome time with looks of anger but Williams ;
owed his landlord no rent, and little regarded his in-

dignation. Olivia, on her side, acted the coquette to
perfection, if that might be called acting which was
her real character, pretending to lavish all her ten-
derness on her new lover. Mr. Thornhill appeared
quite dejected at this preference, and with a pensive
air took leave, though I own it puzzled me to find
him so much in pain as he appeared to be, when he

had it in his power so easily to remove the cause, by
declaring an honorable passion. But whatever un-
easiness he seemed to endure, it could easily be per-
ceived that Olivia's anguish was still greater. After
any of these interviews between her lovers, of which
there were several, she usually retired to solitude, and
there indulged her grief. It was in such a situation
I found her one evening, after she had been for some
time supporting a fictitious gayety. " You now see,
my child," said I, " that your confidence in Mr. Thorn-

hill's passion was all a dream : he permits the rivalry
of another, every way his inferior, though he knows
it lies in his power to secure you to himself by a can-
did declaration." " Yes, papa " returned she, " but
he has his reasons for this delay I know he has.

:
The sincerity of his looks and words convinces me of

his real esteem. A short time, I hope, will discover
the generosity of his sentiments, and convince you
that my opinion of him has been more just than
yours." " Olivia, my darling," returned I, " every
scheme that has been hitherto pursued to compel him

to a declaration, has been proposed and planned by
yourself, nor can you in the least say that I have
constrained you. But you must not suppose, my
dear, that I will ever be instrumental in suffering his
honest rival to be the dupe of your ill-placed passion.

Whatever time you require to bring your fancied ad-
mirer to an explanation, shall be granted; but at the'
expiration of that term, if he is still regardless, I must

absolutely insist that honest Mr. Williams shall be
rewarded for his fidelity. The character which I
have hitherto supported in life demands this from me,
and my tenderness as a parent shall never influence
my integrity as a man. Name then your day; let it
be as distant as you think proper ; and in the mean

time take care to let Mr. Thornhill know the exact
time on which I design delivering you up to another.

If he really loves you, his own good sense will readily
suggest that there is but one method alone to prevent
his losing you forever." This proposal, which she
could not avoid considering as perfectly just, was
readily agreed to. She again renewed her most pos-
itive promise of marrying Mr. Williams, in case of
the other's insensibilityand at the next opportunity,
;
in Mr. Thornhill's presence, that day month was fixed

upon for her nuptials with his rival.
Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr.
Thornhill's anxiety but what Olivia really felt gave
:
me some uneasiness. In this struggle between pru-

dence and passion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and
every opportunity of solitude was sought, and spent
in tears. One week passed away but Mr. Thorn- ;
hillmade no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The suc-

ceeding week he was still assiduous but not more :
open. On the third he discontinued his visits entirely,

and instead of my daughter testifying any impatience
as I expected, she seemed to retain a pensive tran-
quillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my

own was now sincerely pleased with thinking
jârt, I
that my child was going to be secured in a contin-

uance of competence and peace, and frequently ap-
plauded her resolution, in preferring happiness to
ostentation.
It was within about four days of her intended nup-
tials, that my little family at night were gathered
round a charming fire, telling stories of the past, and
;;
VICAK OF WAKEFIELD. Ill
laying schemes for the future; busy in forming a

thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly
came uppermost. " Well, Moses," cried I, " we shall
soon, my boy, have a wedding in the family : what
is your opinion of matters and things in general "
?
" My opinion, father,is, that all things go on very
well ; and I was just now thinking, that when sister

Livy is married to farmer Williams, we shall then
have the loan of his cider-press and brewing tubs for
nothing." " That we shall, Moses," cried I, " and he
will sing us Death and the Lady, to raise our spirits
into the bargain." " He has taught that song to
our Dick," cried Moses, " and I think he goes through
with it very prettily." " Does he so ? " cried I, " then
let us have it : where 's little Dick ? let him up with

it boldly." "My brother Dick," cried Bill, my
youngest, "is just gone out with sister Livy: but
Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and I '11 sing
them for you, papa. Which song do you choose, The
Dyiin^g Swan^ or The Elegy 07i the Death of a Mad
Dog ? " " The elegy, child, by all means," said I
" I never heard that yet ; and Deborah, my life, grief
you know is dry, let us have a bottle of the best goose-
berry-wine, to keep up our spirits. I have wept so
much at all sorts of elegies of late, that without an
enlivening glass, I am sure this will overcome me
and Sophy, love, take your guitar, and thrum in with
the boy a little."
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
Good people all of every sort,

Give ear unto my song,
And if you wondrous short
find it
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes ;
The naked every day he clad.

When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found.

As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends ;
But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighboring streets

The wondering neighbors ran.
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
"
The wound it seemed both sore and sad .
To every Christian eye ;
And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,

That show'd the rogues they lied —
The man recover' d of the bite.
The dog it was that died.
" A very good boy, Bill;^ upon my v7ord, and an

elegy that may be truly calle^4ragical. Come, my
children, here 's Bill's health, and may he one day be
!
a bishop
" With all my heart," cried my wife ;
" and if he
but preaches as well as he sings, I make no doubt of
him. The most of his family by his mother's side,
could sing a good song : it was a common saying in
our country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could

never look straight before them, nor the Hugginsons
blow out a candle that there were none of the Gro-
;
grams but could sing a song, or of the Marjorams but

could tell a story." " However that be," cried I,
" the most vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases

me better than the fine modern odes, and things that
petrify us in a single stanza ; productions that we at
once detest and praise. Put the glass to your brother,

Moses. The great fault of these elegiasts is, that they
are in despair for griefs that give the sensible part of
mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, her
fan, or her lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home

to versify the disaster."
That may be the mode," cried Moses, " in siib-
"
limer compositions but the Eanelagh songs that

;
come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast

in the same mould : Colin meets Dolly, and they hold
a dialogue together ; he gives her a fairing to put in
her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay ; and^

then they go together to a church, where they gave
good advice to young nymj)hs and swains to get mar-

ried as fast as they can."
" And very good advice too," cried I ;
" and I am
told there is not a place in the world where advice
can be given with so much propriety as there ; for as
it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a
wife : and surely that must be an excellent market,

my boy, where we are told what we want, and sup-
plied with it when wanting."
" Yes, sir," returned Moses, " and I know of but
two such markets for wives in Europe, Ranelagh in
England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish

market is open once a year but our English wives ;
are salable every night."

" You are right, my boy," cried his mother, " Old
England is the only place in the world for husbands
to o-et wives." " And for wives to manaoje their
husbands," interrupted I. " It is a proverb abroad,

that if a bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies
of the continent would come over to take pattern from
ours ; for there are no such wives in Europe as our
own. But let ns have one bottle more, Deborah, my

life ; and Moses, give us a good song. What thanks
do we not owe to Heaven for thus bestowing tran-
quillity, health, and competence ! I think myself
happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth.
He has no such fire side, nor such pleasant faces
about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now growing old ;
but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We

are descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and
we shall leave a good and virtuous race of children
behind us. While we live, they will be our support
and our pleasure here ; and when we die, they will
transmit our honor untainted to posterity. Come,
my son, we wait for a song ; let us have a chorus.
But where is my darling Olivia ? That little cherub's
voice is always sweetest in the concert." Just as I
spoke Dick came running in. "0 papa, papa, she is
gone from us, she is gone from us ; my sister Livy is
gone from us forever." " Gone, child " " Yes, she !
is gone off with two gentlemen in a post-chaise, and

one of them kissed her, and said he would die for
her : and she cried very much, and was for coming
back ; but he persuaded her again, and she went into
the chaise, and said, what will my poor papa do
when he knows I am undone !
" " Now then," cried
I, " my children, go and be miserable ; for we shall
never enjoy one hour more. And may Heaven's
everlasting fury light upon him and his ! Thus to
rob me of my child ! And sure it will, for taking

back my sweet innocent that I was leading up to
!!
Heaven. Such sincerity as my child was possessed

of ! But all our earthly happiness is now over ! Go,
my children, go and be miserable and infamous ; for
my heart is broken within me !

" " Father," cried
my son, " is this your fortitude ? " " Fortitude,
child ! — yes, ye shall see I have fortitude ! Bring

me my pistols. I '11 pursue the traitor ; while he is
on earth I '11 pursue him. Old as I am, he shall find

I can sting him yet. The villain ! The perfidious
villain
!
" I had by this time reached down my
pistols, when my poor wife, whose passions were not
as strong as mine, caught me in her arms. " My
dearest, dearest husband," cried she, " the Bible is
the only weapon that is fit for your old hands now.
Open that, my love, and read our anguish into pa-
tience, for she has vilely deceived us." " Indeed, sir,"
resumed my son, after a pause, " your rage is too

violent and unbecoming. You should be my moth-
er's comforter, and you increase her pain. It ill
suited you and your reverend character, thus to curse
your greatest enemy ;
you should not have cursed
him, villain as he is." " I did not curse him, child,
did I ? " Indeed, sir, you did ; you curst him twice."
" Then may Heaven forgive me and him if I did
And now, my son, I see it was more than human be-
nevolence that first taught us to bless our enemies
Blessed be His holy name for all the good He hath
given, and for all that he hath taken away. But it is
not — it is not a small distress that can wring tears

from these old eyes, that have not wept for so many
VICAK OF WAKEFIELD. 117
years. My child! — To undo my darling; — May

confusion seize — Heaven forgive am I me, what
about to say You may remember, my love, how
!
good she was, and how charming till this vile mo-
;
ment all her care was to make us happy. Had she

but died ! But she is gone, the honor of our family
contaminated, and I must look out for happiness in
other worlds than here. But, my child, you saw
them go off: perhaps he forced her away ? If he
forced her, she may Ah, no, sir,"
yet be innocent." "
cried the child " he only kissed her, and called her
;
his angel, and she wept very much, and leaned upon
his arm, and they drove off very fast." " She 's an
ungrateful creature," cried my wife, who could scarcely

speak for weeping, " to use us thus. She never had
the least constraint put upon her affections. The
vile strumpet has basely deserted her parents without
any provocation, thus to bring your gray hairs to the
grave and I must shortly follow."

;
In this manner that night, the first of our real mis-

fortunes, was spent in the bitterness of complaint, and
ill-supported sallies of enthusiasm. I determined,
however, to find out our betrayer, wherever he was,
and reproach his baseness. The next morning we
missed our wretched child at breakfast, where she
used to give life and cheerfulness to us all. My wife,
as before, attempted to ease her heart by reproaches.
" Never," cried she, " shall the vilest stain of our
family again darken these harmless doors. I will
never call her daughter more. No, let the strumpet
live with her vile seducer ; she may bring us to shame,

but she shall never more deceive us."
" Wife," said I, " do not talk thus hardly ; my de-
testation of her guilt is as great as yours ; but ever
shall this house and this heart be open to a poor re-
turning repentant sinner. The sooner she returns
from her transgressions, the more welcome shall she
be to me. For the first time the very best may err ;
artmay persuade, and novelty spread out its charm.

The first fault is the child of simplicity, but every
other the offspring of guilt. Yes, the wretched creat-
ure shall be welcome to this heart and this house,
though stained with ten thousand vices. I will again
hearken to the music of her voice, again will I hang
fondly on her bosom, if I find but repentance there.
My son, bring hither my Bible and my staff; I will
pursue her wherever she is ; and though I cannot

save her from shame, I may prevent the continuance
of iniquity."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PURSUIT OF A FATHER TO RECLAIM A LOST

CHILD TO VIRTUE.
Though the child could not describe the gentle-

man's person who handed his sister into the post-
chaise, yet my suspicions fell entirely upon our young
landlord, whose character for such intrigues was but
too well known. I therefore directed my steps to-
wards Thornhill Castle, resolving to upbraid him,
and if possible to bring back my daughter : but be-
fore I had reached his seat, I was met hj one of my
parishioners, who said he saw a young lady resem-
bling my daughter, in a post-chaise with a gentleman,
whom, by the description, I could only guess to be
Mr. Burchell, and that they drove very fast. This
information, however, did by no means satisfy me.
I therefore went to the yoang Squire's, and though
it was yet early, insisted upon seeing him immedi-
ately. He soon appeared with the most open familiar

air, and seemed perfectly amazed at my daughter's
elopement, protesting upon his honor that he was
quite a stranger to it. I now, therefore, condemned
my former suspicions, and could turn them only on
Mr. Burchell, who I recollected had of late several
private conferences with her ; but the appearance of

another witness left no room to doubt his villainy,
who averred, that he and my daughter were actually

gone towards the Wells, about thirty miles off, where
there was a great deal of company. Being driven to
that state of mind in which we all are more ready to
act precipitately than to reason right, I never de-

bated with myself, whether these accounts might not
have been given by persons purposely placed in my
way to mislead me, but resolved to pursue my daugh-
ter and her fancied deluder thither. I walked along
with earnestness, and inquired of several by the way ;
but received no accounts, till, entering the town, I

was met by a person on horseback, whom I remem-
bered to have seen at the Squire's, and he assured
me, that if I followed them to the races, which were
but thirty miles farther, I might depend upon over-
taking them ; for he had seen them dance there the
night before, and the whole assembly seemed charmed
with my daughter's performance. Early the next
day, I walked forward to the races, and about four in
the afternoon I came upon the course. The company
made a very brilliant appearance, all earnestly em-
ployed in one pursuit, that of pleasure ; how different
from mine, that of reclaiming a lost child to virtue !
some distance
I thought I perceived Mr. Burchell at
from me but, as if he dreaded an interview, upon
:
my approaching him he mixed among a crowd, and I

saw him no more. I now reflected that it would be
to no purpose to continue my pursuit farther, and re-
:
solved to return home to an innocent family who

wanted my assistance. But the agitations of my
mind, and the fatigues I had undergone, threw me
into a fever, the symptoms of which I perceived be-
fore I came off the course. This was another unex-

pected stroke, as I was more than seventy miles
distant from home ; however, I retired to a little ale-
house by the road-side, and in this place, the usual
retreat of indigence and frugality, I laid me down

patiently to wait the issue of my disorder. I lan-
guished here for nearly three weeks ; but at last my
constitution prevailed, though I was unprovided with
money to defray the expenses of my entertainment.
It is possible the anxiety from this last circumstance
alone might have brought on a relapse, had I not been
su23plied by a traveler, who stopped to take a cursory
refreshment. This person was no other than the
philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Church-yard,^
who has written so many little books for children
he called himself their friend ; but he was the friend
of all mankind. He was no sooner alighted, but he
was in haste to be gone ; for he was ever on business
of the utmost importance, and was at that time actu-
ally compiling materials for the history of one Mr.
Thomas Trip. I immediately recollected this good-
natured man's red-pimpled face ; for he had published
for me against the Deuterogamists of the age, and
from him I borrowed a few pieces, to be paid at my
return. Leaving the inn, therefore, as I was yet but
1 Mr. John Newberry.
weak, I resolved to return home by easy journeys of

ten miles a day. My health and usual tranquillity
were almost restored, and I now condemned that
pride which had made me refractory to the hand of
correction. Man little knows what calamities are be-
yond his patience to bear, till he tries them : as in

ascending the heights of ambition, which look bright
from below, every step we rise shows us some new
and gloomy prospect of hidden disappointment so ;
in our descent from the summits of pleasure, though

the vale of misery below may appear at first dark and
gloomy, yet the busy mind, still attentive to its own
amusement, finds, as we descend, something to flatter
and to please. Still, as we approach, the darkest
objects appear to brighten, and the mental eye be-
comes adapted to its gloomy situation.
Inow proceeded forward, and had walked about

two hours, when I perceived what appeared at a
distance like a wagon, which I was resolved to over-
take ; but when I came up with
it, found it to be a
strolling company's was carrying their

cart, that
scenes and other theatrical furniture to the next vil-
lage, where they were to exhibit. The cart was
attended only by the person who drove it, and one of
the company, as the rest of the players were to fol-
low the ensuing day. " Good company upon the
road," says the proverb, " is the shortest cut." I
therefore entered into conversation with the poor
player ; and as I once had some theatrical powers
myself, I disserted on such topics with my usual free-
dom ; but as I was pretty much unacquaiiited with
the present state of the stage, I demanded who were

the present theatrical writers in vogue, who the Dry-
" I fancy, sir," cried
dens and Otways of the day ?
the player,few of our modern dramatists would

''
think themselves much honored by being compared to

the writers you mention. Dry den's and Rowe's man-
ner, sir, are quite out of fashion ; our taste has gone
back a whole century; Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and
all the plays of Shakespeare, are the only things that
go down." " How," cried I, " is it possible the pres-

ent age can be pleased with that antiquated dialect,
that obsolete humor, those overcharged characters,
which abound in the works you mention ? " " Sir,"
returned my companion, " the public think nothing
about dialect, or humor, or character, for that is none
of their business they only go to be amused, and
;
find themselves happy when they can enjoy a panto-

mime, under the sanction of Jonson's or Shakespeare's
name." "So then, I suppose," cried I, "that our
modern dramatists are rather imitators of Shakes-

peare than of nature." "To say the truth," returned
my companion, " I don't know that they imitate any-
thing at nor indeed does the public require it of
all ;
them ; not the composition of the piece, but the

it is
number of starts and attitudes that may be introduced

into it, that elicits applause. I have known a piece,
with not one jest in the whole, shrugged into popu-

larity, and another saved by the poet's throwing in a
fit of the gripes. No, sir, the works of Congreve and

;
Farquhar have too much wit in them for the present

taste our modern dialect is much more natural."
;
By this time the equipage of the strolling com-

pany was arrived at the village, which it seems, had
been aj^prised of our approach, and was come out to
gaze at us : for my companion observed, that strollers

always have more spectators without doors than
within. I did not consider the impropriety of my
being in such company, till I saw a mob gather
about me. I therefore took shelter, as fast as possi-
ble, in the first ale-house that offered, and being shown
into the common room, was accosted by a very well
dressed gentleman, who demanded whether I was
the real chaplain of the comjâny, or whether it was
only to be my masquerade character in the play.
Upon my informing him of the truth, and that I did
not belong in any sort to the company, he was con-
descending enough to desire me and the player to par-
take in a bowl of punch, over which he discussed
modern politics with great earnestness and interest.
I set him down in my own mind for nothing less
than a parliament-man at least but was almost con-
:
firmed in my conjectures, when, upon asking what

there was in the house for supper, he insisted that I
and the player should sup with him at his house
with which request after some entreaties, we were
prevailed on to comply.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DESCRIPTION OF A PERSON DISCONTENTED

WITH THE PRESENT GOVERNMENT AND APPRE-
HENSIVE OF THE LOSS OF OUR LIBERTIES,
The house where we were to be entertained lying

at a small distance from the village, our inviter ob-
served, that as the coach was not ready, he would
conduct us on foot; and we soon arrived at one of
the most magnificent mansions I had seen in that
part of the country. The apartment into which we
were shown was perfectly elegant and modern he ;
went to give orders for supper, while the player, with

a wink, observed that we were perfectly in luck.
Our entertainer soon returned ; an elegant supper
was brought in, two or three ladies in easy dishabille
were introduced, and the conversation began with

some sprightliness. Politics, however, was the sub-
ject on which our entertainer chiefly expatiated ; for
he asserted that liberty was at once his boast and his
terror. After the cloth was removed, he asked me
if I had seen the last " Monitor ? " to which reply-
ing in the negative, " What, npt the '
Auditor,'
I suppose?" cried he. "Neither, sir," returned I.
" That's strange, very strange," replied my entertainer.

" ;
" Now I read all the politics, that come out. The
" Daily," the "Public," the " Ledger," the "Chroni-
cle," the " London Evening," the " Whitehall Even-

ing," the seventeen Magazines, and the two Reviews
and though they hate each other I love them all. Lib-
erty, sir, liberty is the Briton's boast, and by all my
coal-mines in Cornwall, I reverence its guardians."
" Then it is to be hoped," cried I, " you reverence the
king." " Yes," returned my entertainer, " when he
does what wê would have him ; but if he goes on as
he has done of late, I '11 never trouble myself more
with his matters. I say nothing. I think, only, I
could have directed some things better. I don't think
there has been a sufficient number of advisers ; he

should advise with every person willing to give him
advice, and then we should have things done in
another guess manner."
" I wish," cried I, " that such intruding advisers
were fixed in the pillory. be the duty of
It should
honest men weaker side of our constitu-
to assist the
tion, that sacred power which has for some years
been every day declining, and losing its due share of

influence in the state. But these ignorants still con-
tinue the same cry of liberty ; and if they have any
weight, basely throw it iiito the subsiding scale."
" How," cried one of the ladies, " do I live to see
one so base, so sordid, as to be an enemy to liberty,
and a defender of tyrants ? Liberty, that sacred gift
of Heaven, that glorious privilege of Britons !
" Can it be possible," cried our entertainer, " that

there should be any found at present advocates for

slavery? Any who are for meanly giving up the
"
privileges of Britons ? Can any, sir, be so abject ?
" No, sir," replied I, " I am for liberty, that attrib-

ute of God ! Glorious liberty ! that theme of modern
declamation. I would have all men kings. I would
be a king myself. We have all naturally an equal
right to the throne : we are all originally equal.
This is my and was once the opinion of a
opinion,
set of honest men who were called Levellers. They
tried to erect themselves into a community, where all
should be equally free. But, alas ! it would never

answer; for there were some among them stronger,
and some more cunning than others, and these be-
came masters of the rest ; for as sure as your groom
rides your horses, because he is a cunninger animal
than they, so surely will the animal that is cunninger
or stronger than he, sit upon his shoulders in turn.
Since, then it upon humanity to submit,
is entailed
and some are born command, and others to obey,
to
the question is, as there must be tyrants, whether it
is better to have them in the same house with us, or
in the same village, or still farther off, in the metrop-

olis. Now, sir, for my own part, as I naturally hate
the face of a tyrant, the farther off he is removed
from me, the better pleased am I. The generality of
mankind also are of my way of thinking, and have
unanimously created one king, whose election at once
diminishes the number of tyrants, and puts tyranny
at the greatest distance from the greatest number of
people. Now, the great, who were tyrants them-

selves before the election of one tyrant, are naturally
averse to a power raised over them, and whose weight
must ever lean heaviest on the subordinate orders.
It is the interest of the great, therefore, to diminish
kingly jDOwer as much as possible ; because whatever

they take from that, is naturally restored to them-
selves ; and all they have to do in the state, is to un-
dermine the single tyrant, by which they resume
their primeval authority. Now the state may be so
circumstanced, or its laws may be so disposed, or its*
men of opulence so minded, as all to consijire in

carrying on this business of undermining monarchy.
For, in the first place, if the circumstances of our
state be such as to favor the accumulation of wealth,
and make the opulent still more rich, this will in-
crease their ambition. An accumulation of wealth,

however, must necessarily be the consequence, when,
as at present, more riches flow in from external com-
merce than arise from internal industry : for external
commerce can only be managed to advantage by the
rich, and they have also at the same time all the
emoluments arising from internal industry so that ;
the rich, with us, have two sources of wealth, whereas

the poor have but one. For this reason, wealth, in
all commercial states, is found to accumulate, and all
such have hitherto in time become aristocratical.
Again, the very laws also of this country may con-

tribute to the accumulation of wealth; as when, by
their means, the natural ties that bind the rich and
poor together are broken, and it is ordained, that the

rich shall only marry with the rich ; or when the
learned are held unqualified to serve their country as
counsellors, merely from a defect of opulence, and
wealth is thus made the object of a wise man's ambi-
tion ; by these means, I say, and such means as these,
riches will accumulate. Now the possessor of accu-
mulated wealth, when furnished with the necessaries
and pleasures of life, has no other method to employ
the superfluity of his fortune but in purchasing power.
That is, differently speaking, in making dependents,
by purchasing the liberty of the needy or the venal,
of men who are willing to bear the mortification of
contiguous tyranny for bread. Thus each very opu-
lent man generally gathers round him a circle of the
people ; and the polity abounding in accumulated
wealth, may be compared to a Cartesian system, each
orb with a vortex of its own. Those, however, who
are willing to move in a great man's vortex, are only
such as must be slaves, the rabble of mankind, whose
souls and whose education are adapted to servitude,
and who know nothing of liberty except the name.
But there must still be a large number of the people
without the sphere of the opulent man's influence ;
namely, that order of men which subsist between the

very rich and the very rabble ; those men who are
possest of too large fortunes to submit to the neigh-
boring man in power, and yet are too poor to set up
for tyranny themselves. In this middle order of
mankind are generally to be found all the arts, wis-
dom, and virtues of society. This order alone is
known to be the true preserver of freedom, and may

be called the people. Now it may happen that this
middle order of mankind may lose all its influence in
a state, and its voice be in a manner drowned in that
of the rabble : for if the fortune sufficient for qualify-

ing a person at present to give his voice in state
affairs be ten times less than was judged sufficient
upon forming the constitution, it is evident that

greater numbers of the rabble will thus be introduced
into the political system, and they ever moving in the
vortex of the great, will follow where greatness shall
direct. In such a state, therefore, all that the middle
order has left, is to preserve the prerogative and priv-
ileges of the one principal governor with the most
sacred circumspection. For he divides the power of
the rich, and calls off the great from falling with ten-
fold weight on the middle order placed beneath them.
The middle order may be compared to a town, of
which the opulent are forming the siege, and to which

the governor from without is hastening the relief.
While the besiegers are in dread of an enemy over

them, it is but natural to offer the townsmen the most
specious terms ; to flatter them with sounds, and
amuse them with privileges ; but if they once defeat
the governor from behind, the walls of the town will
be but a small defence to its inhabitants. What they

may then expect, may be seen by turning our eyes to
Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern
the poor, and the rich govern the laws. I am then
;
VICAK OF WAKEFIELD. 131
for, and would die for monarchy, sacred monarchy

for if there be anything sacred amongst men, it must
be the anointed Sovereign of his people ; and every
diminution of his power, in war, or in peace, -is an
infringement upon the real liberties of the subject.
The sounds of liberty, patriotism, and Britons, have
already done much ; it is to be hoped that the true
sons of freedom will prevent their ever doing more.
I have known many of those pretended champions of
liberty in my time, yet do I not remember one that
was not in his heart and in his family a tyrant."

My warmth I found had lengthened this harangue
beyond the rules of good breeding but the impatience ;
of my entertainer, who often strove to interrupt it,
could be restrained no longer. " What," cried he,
"then I have been all this while entertaining a

Jesuit in parson's clothes ! but by all the coal-mines
of Cornwall, out he shall pack, if my name be Wilk-
inson." I had gone too far, and
now found that I
asked pardon for the warmth with which I had
spoken. " Pardon " returned he in a fury
!
" I think ;
such principles demand ten thousand pardons. What ?

give up liberty, property, and, as the " Gazetteer"
says, lie down to be saddled with wooden shoes Sir, !
I insist upon your marching out of this house imme-

diately, to prevent worse consequences : Sir, I insist
upon it." I was going to repeat my remonstrances :
but just then we heard a footman's rap at the door,

and the two ladies cried out, " As sure as death there
is our master and mistress come home." It seems
my entertainer was all this while only the butler,

who, in his master's absence, had a mind to cut a
figure, and be for a while the gentleman himself; and
to say the truth, he talked politics as well as most
country gentlemen do. But nothing could now ex-
ceed my confusion upon seeing the gentleman and
his lady enter ; nor was their surprise at finding such
company and good cheer, less than ours. " Gentle-
men," qried the real master of the house to me and

my companion, " my wife and I are your most hum-
ble servants ; but I protest this is so unexpected a
favor, that we almost sink under the obligation."
However unexpected our company might be to them,
theirs I am sure was still more so to us, and I was
struck dumb with the apprehensions of my own ab-
surdity, when whom should I next see enter the room
but my dear Mis Arabella Wilmot, who was formerly
designed to be married to my son George, but whose
match was broken off as already related. As soon
as she saw me, she flew to my arms with the utmost
joy. " My dear sir," cried she, " to what happy acci-
dent is it that we owe so unexpected a visit ? I am
sure my uncle and aunt will be in raptures when they
find they have the good Dr. Primrose for their guest."
Upon hearing my name, the old gentleman and lady
very politely stept up, and welcomed me with the
most cordial hospitality. Nor could they forbear
smiling, upon being informed of the nature of my
present visit : but the unfortunate butler, whom they
at first seemed disposed to turn away, was at my in-
tercession forgiven.
Mr. Arnold and his lady, to whom the house be-

longed, now msisted upon having the pleasure of my
stay for some days and as their neice, my charming
;
pupil, whose mind in some measure had been formed

under my own instructions, joined in their entreaties,
I complied. That night I was shown to a magnifi-
cent chamber, and the next morning early Miss Wil-
mot desired to walk with me in the garden, which
was decorated in the modern manner. After some
time spent in pointing out the beauties of the place,
she inquired with seeming unconcern, when last I
had heard from my son George ? " Alas ! madam,"

cried I, " he has now been nearly three years absent,
without ever writing to his friends or me. Where
he is I know not ;
perhaps I shall never see him
or happiness more. No, my dear madam, we shall
never more see such pleasing hours as were once

spent by our fire-side at Wakefield. My little family
are now dispersing very fast, and poverty has brought
not only want, but inftimy upon us." The good-na-
tured girl let fall a tear at this account ; but as I saw
her possessed of too much sensibility, I forbore a
more minute detail of our sufierings. It was, how-

ever, some consolation to me, to find that time had
made no alteration in her affections, and that she
had rejected several offers that had been made her,
since our leaving her part of the country. She led
me round all the extensive improvements of the
place, pointing to the several walks and arbors, and
at the same time catching from every object a hint
for some new question relative to my son. In this

manner we spent the forenoon, till the bell summoned
us in to dinner, where we found the manager of the
strolling company that I mentioned before, who was
come to dispose of tickets for the Fair Penitent, which
was to be acted that evening, the part of Horatio by
a young gentleman who had never appeared on any
stage. He seemed to be very warm in the praises of
the new performer, and averred that he never saw any
who bid so fair for excellence. Acting, he observed,
was not learned in a day ;
" but this gentleman," con-
tinued he, " seems born to tread the stage. His voice,
his figure, and attitudes, are all admirable. We
caught him up accidentally in our journey down."
This account, in some measure, excited our curiosity,
and, at the entreaty of the ladies, I was prevailed
upon to accompany them to the play-house, which
was no other than a barn. As the company with
which I went was incontestibly the chief of the place,
we were received with the greatest respect, and
placed in the front seat of the theatre ; where we sat
for some time with no small impatience to see Horatio
make his appearance. The new performer advanced
at last ; and let parents think of my sensations by
their own, when I found it was my unfortunate son.
He was going to begin, when, turning his eyes upon
the audience, he perceived Miss Wilmot and me, and
stood at once speechless and immovable. The actors
behind the scene, who ascribed this pause to his nat-
ural timidity, attempted to encourage him ; but in-
Stead of going on, he burst into a flood of tears, and

retired off the stage. I don't know what were my
feelings on this occasion, for they succeeded with too
much rapidity for description ; but I was soon awaked
from this disagreeable reverie by Miss Wilmot, who,
pale, and with a trembling voice, desired me to con-
duct her back to her uncle's. When got home, Mr.
Arnold, who was as yet a stranger to our extraordi-
nary behavior, being informed that the new performer
was my son, sent his coach and an invitation for him ;
and as he persisted in his refusal to appear again

upon the stage, the players put another in his place,
and we soon had him with us. Mr. Arnold gave him
the kindest reception, and I received him with my
usual transport ; for I could never counterfeit false
resentment. Miss Wilmot's reception was mixed
with seeming neglect, and yet I could perceive she
acted a studied part. The tumult in her mind seemed
not yet abated ; she said twenty giddy things that
looked like joy, and then laughed loud at her own
want of meaning. At intervals she would take a sly
peep at the happy in the consciousness of
glass, as if
irresistible beauty, and often would ask questions
without giving any manner of attention to the an-

swers.
CHAPTER XX.
THE HISTORY OF A PHILOSOPHIC VAGABOND, PUR-
SUING NOVELTY, BUT LOSING CONTENT.
After we had supped, Mrs. Arnold politely offered

to send a couple of her footmen for ray son's baggage,
which he at first seemed to decline ; but upon her
pressing the request, he was obliged to inform her, that
a stick and wallet were all the movable things upon
this earth that he could boast of. " Why, ay, my
son," cried I, " you left me but poor, and poor I find
you are come back ; and yet I make no doubt you
have seen a great deal of the world." " Yes, sir,"
replied my son, " but traveling after fortune is not

the way to secure her ; and indeed of late I have de-
sisted from the pursuit." " I fancy, sir," cried Mrs.
Arnold, " that the account of your adventures would
be amusing : the first part of them I have often heard
from my niece ; but could the company prevail for
the rest, it would be an additional obligation."
" Madam," replied my son, " I promise you the pleas-
ure you have in hearing will not be half so great as
my vanity in repeating them ;
yet in the whole nar-
rative I can scarcely promise you one adventm-e, as
my account is rather of what I saw than what I did.
Tlie first misfortune of my life, which you all know,

was great ; but though it distressed, it could not sink
me. No person ever had a better knack at hoping
than I. The less kind I found fortune at one time,
the more I expected from her another, and being now
at the bottom of her wheel, every new revolution
might lift, bat could not depress me. I proceeded,
therefore, towards London in a fine morning, no way
uneasy about to-morrow, but cheerful as the birds
that carolled by the road, and comforted myself with
reflecting that London was the mart where abilities
of every kind were sure of meeting distinction and
reward.
" Upon my arrival in town, sir, my first care was
to deliver your letter of recommendation to our
cousin, who was himself in little better circumstances
than L My first scheme, you know, sir, was to be
usher at an academy, and I asked his advice on the
aifair. Our cousin received the proposal with a true
Sardonic grin. Ay, cried he, this is indeed a very
pretty career that has been chalked out for you. I
have been an usher at a boarding-school myself; and
may I die by an anodyne necklace, but I had rather
be an under-turnkey in Newgate. I was up early
and late ; I was browbeat by the master, hated for
my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys
within, and never permitted
to stir out to meet civ-
ility But are you sure you are fit for a
abroad.
school ? Let me examine you a little. Have you
been bred an apprentice to the business ? No. Then
you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys'

hair ? No. Then you won't do Have for a school.
you had the small-pox Then you won't do
? No.
for a school. Can you lie three in a bed No. Then "^
you will never do for a school. Have you got a

good stomach ? Yes. Then you will by no means
do for a school. No, sir, if you are for a genteel
easy profession, bind yourself seven years an appren-
tice to turn a cutler's wheel
but avoid a school by
;
any means. Yet come, continued he, I see you are

a lad of spirit and some learning, what do you think
of commencing author, like me ? You have read in
books, no doubt, of
J,
men of genius starving at the
trade. At present I'll show you forty very dull
fellows about town that live by it
in opulence all ;
honest jog-trot men, who go on smoothly and dully,

and write history and politics, and are praised men, :
sir, who, had they been bred cobblers, would all
their lives have only mended shoes, but never made

them.
" Finding that there was no great degree of gen-
tility affixed to the character of an usher, I resolved
to accept his proposals ; and having the highest re-
sj:)ect for literature, hailed the antiqua mater of Grub-

street with reverence. I thought it my glory to
pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before
me. I considered the goddess of this region as the
parent of excellence ; and however an intercourse
with the world might give us good sense, the poverty
she entailed I supposed to be the nurse of genius !
—
Big with these reflections, I sat down, and finding

that the best things remained to be said on the wrong
side, I resolved to write a book that should be wholly
new. I therefore drest up three paradoxes with some
ingenuity. They were false, indeed, but they were
new.^ The jewels of truth have been so often im-
ported by others, that nothing was left for me to im-
port but some splendid things that at a distance
looked every bit as well. Witness, ye powers, what
fancied importance sat perched upon my quill while I
was writing The whole learned world, I made no
!
doubt, would rise to oppose my systems but then I ;
was prepared to oppose the whole learned world.

Like the porcupine, I sat self-collected, with a quill
pointed against every opposer."
" Well said, my boy," cried I, " and what subject
did you treat upon ? I hope you did not pass over
the importance of monogamy. But I interrupt go ;
on : you published your paradoxes well and what ;
"
did the learned world say to your paradoxes ?
" Sir," replied my son, " the learned worlcf said

nothing to my paradoxes ; nothing at all, sir. Every
man of them was employed in praising his friends
1 "I remember," said Dr. Johnson, *'

a passage in Goldsmith's
' Vicar of Waketield '
which he was afterwards
fool enough to ex-
punge. do not love a man who is zealous for nothing.' There
' I
was another fine passage too, which he struck out: When I was '
a young man, being anxious to distinguish myself, I was perpetu-

ally starting new propositions. But I soon gave this over ; for I
found that generally what was new was false.' " Boswell,
vol. vii., p. 2-4.
;
and himself, or condemning his enemies and unfor- ;
tunately, as I had neither, I suffered the cruelest

mortification, neglect.
" As I was meditating one day in a coffee-house on
the fate of my paradoxes, a little man happening to
enter the room, placed himself in the box before me,

and after some preliminary discourse, finding me to
be a scholar, drew out a bundle of proposals, begging

me to subscribe to a new edition he was going to give
to the world of Propertius with notes. This demand

necessarily produced a reply that I had no money
and that concession led him to inquire into the nature
of my expectations. Finding that my expectations
were just as great as my purse, I see, cried he, you
are unacquainted with the town ; I '11 teach you a part
of it. Look at these proposals, — upon these very
proposals I have subsisted very comfortably for
twelve 3êars. The moment a nobleman returns
from his travels, a Creolian arrives from Jamaica, or
a dowager from her country-seat, I strike for a sub-
scription. I first besiege their hearts with flattery,
and then pour in my projDOsals at the breach. If
they subscribe readily the first time, I renew my re-
quest to beg a dedication fee. If they let me have
that, I smite them once more for engraving their coat
of arms at the top. Thus, continued he, I live by
vanity and laugh at it. But between ourselves, I am
now too well known ; I should be glad to borrow
your face a bit ; a nobleman of distinction has just
returned from Italy ; my face is famihar to his por-
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 1-41
ter but if you bring this copy of verses,

; my life for
it you succeed, and we divide the spoil."

" Bless us, George," cried I, " and is this the em-
ployment of poets now ! Do men of their exalted
talents thus stoop to beggary ! Can they so far dis-
grace their calling, as to make a vile traffic of praise
"
for bread ?
" no, sir," returned he, " a true poet can never
be so base ; for wherever there is genius, there is
pride. The creatures I now describe are only beg-

gars in rhyme. The real poet, as he braves every
hardship for fame, so he is equally a coward to con-
tempt ; and none but those who are unworthy pro-
tection, condescend to solicit it.
"
Having a mind too proud to stoop to such indig-
nities, and yet a fortune too humble to hazard a
second attempt for fame, I was now obliged to take a
middle course, and write for bread. But I was un-
qualified for a profession where mere industry alone
was to ensure success. I could not suppress my
lurking passion for applause ; but usually consumed
that time in eiforts after excellence which takes up
but little room, when it should have been more ad-
vantageously employed in the diffusive productions of
fruitful mediocrity. My little piece would therefore
come forth in the midst of periodical publications,
unnoticed and unknown. The public were more im-
/ portantly employed than to observe the easy sim-
plicity of my style, or the harmony of my periods.
Sheet after sheet was thrown off to oblivion. My
;
essays were buried among the essays upon liberty,

eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog
while Philautos, Philalethes, Philelutheros, and Phi-
ianthropos all wrote better, because they wrote faster
than I.^
'•
Now, therefore, I began to associate with none
but disappointed authors like myself, who praised, de-
plored, and despised each other. The satisfiiction we
found in every celebrated writer's attempts, was in-
versely as their merits. I found that no genius in
another could please me. My unfortunate paradoxes
had entirely dried up that source of comfort. I could
neither read nor write with satisfaction ; for excel-
lence in another way was my aversion, and writing
was my trade.
" In the midst of these gloomy reflections, as I was
one day sitting on a bench in St. James's park, a
young gentleman of distinction, who had been my in-
timate acquaintance at the university, approached me.

We saluted each other with some hesitation ; he
almost ashamed of being known to one who made so
shabby an a^Dpearance, and I afraid of a repulse. But
my suspicions soon vanished ; for Ned Thornhill was
at the bottom a very good-natured fellow."
^ Goldsmith's own situation seems and minutely

to be exactly
described in the above passage. The having made
allusions of
one attempt for fame, meaning the " Inquir\- into Polite Learning "
— his being obliged afterwards to write for bread to his passion—
for applause —
to his efforts at acquiring an elegant stj'le scarcely —
admit of mistake and the complaint of the fate of his pieces is in
;
nearly the words used in the preface to his Essays.

u wîia^ ^[(\ yoxi say, George

!
" interrupted I.
" Thornliill, was not that his name ? It can certainly
be no other than my landlord." " Bless me," cried

Mrs. Arnold, " is Mr. Thornhill so near a neighbor
of yours ? He has long been a friend to our family,
and we expect a visit from him shortly."
" My friend's first care," continued my son, " was
to alter my appearance by a very fine suit of his own
clothes, and then I was admitted to his table, upon
the footing of half friend, half underling. My busi-
ness was to attend him at auctions, to put him in
spirits when he sat for his picture, to take the left
hand in his chariot when not filled by another, and to
assist at tattering a kip, as the phrase was, when he

had a mind for a frolic. Besides this, I had twenty
other little employm.ents in the family. I was to do
many small things without bidding ; to carry the
corkscrew ; to stand godfather to all the butler's
children; to sing when I was bid; to be never out
of humor ; always to be humble, and if I could, to
be very happy.
" In this honorable post, however, I was not with-
out a rival. A captain of marines, who was formed
for the place by nature, opposed me in my patron's
affections. His mother had been laundress to a man
of quality, and thus he early acquired a taste for
pimping and pedigree. As this gentleman made it
the study of his life to be acquainted with lords,

though he was dismissed from several for his stu-
pidity, yet he found many of them who were as dull
as himself, that permitted his assiduities. As flattery-
was liis trade, he practiced it with the easiest address

imaginable it came awkward and stiff from me
; but :
and as day my patron's desire of flattery in-

everj^
creased, so every hour being better acquainted with
his defects I became more unwilling
to Sfive it. Thus
I was once more fairly going to give up the field to
the captain, when my friend found occasion for my
assistance. This was nothing less than to fioht a
duel for him, with a gentleman whose sister it was
pretended he had used ill. I readily complied with
his request, and though I see you are displeased with
my conduct, yet, as it was a debt indispensably due
to friendship, I could not refuse. I undertook the
affair, disarmed my antagonist, and soon after had the
pleasure of finding that the lady was only a woman
of the town, and the fellow her bully and a sharper.
This piece of service was repaid with the warmest
professions of gratitude ; but as my friend was to
leave town in a few days, he knew no other method

of serving me, but by recommending me to his uncle
Sir William Thornhill, and another nobleman of great
distinction who enjoyed a post under the government.
When he was gone, my first care was to carry his
recommendatory letter to his uncle, a man whose
character for every virtue was universal, yet just. I
was received by his servants with the most hospitable

smiles ; for the looks of the domestic ever transmit
their master's benevolence. Being shown into a
grand apartment, where Sir William soon came to
me, I delivered my message, and letter, whicli lie
read, and after pausing some minutes, Pray, sir, cried

he, inform me what you have done for my kinsman
to deserve this warm recommendation But I sup- :
pose, sir, I guess your merits you have fought

;
for
him ; and so you would expect a reward from me for
being the instrument of his vices. I wish, sincerely
wish, that my present refusal may be some punish-
ment for your guilt ; but still more, that it may be
some inducement to your repentance. The severity
of this rebuke I bore patiently, because I knew it
was just. My whole expectations now, therefore,

lay in my letter to the great man. As the doors of
the nobility are almost ever beset with beggars, all
ready to thrust in some sly petition, I found it no
easy matter to gain admittance. However, after
bribing the servants with half my worldly fortune, I
was at last shown into a spacious apartment, my
letter being previously sent up for his lordship's in-
spection. During this anxious interval I had fall
time to look around me. Everything was grand and

of happy contrivance ; the paintings, the furniture,
the guildings, petrified me with awe, and raised my
idea of the owner. Ah, thought I to myself, how
very great' must the possessor of all these things be,
who carries in his head the business of the
state, and
whose house displays half the wealth of a kingdom ;
sure his genius must be unfathomable During these !
awful reflections, I heard a step come heavily for-

ward. Ah, this is the great man himself! No, it
10
was only a chambermaid. Another foot was heard

soon after. This must be he No, ! it was only the
great man's valet de chambre. At last his lordship
actually made his appearance. Are you, cried he,
the bearer of this here letter? I answered with a
bow. I learn by this, continued he, as how that —
But just at that instant a servant delivered him a
card, and without taking farther notice, he went out
of the room, and left me to digest my own happiness
at leisure ; I saw no more of him, till told by a foot-
man that his lordship was going to his coach at the
door. Down I immediately followed, and joined my
voice to that of three or four more, who came, like
me, to petition for favors. His lordship, however,
went too fast for us, and was gaining his chariot door
with large strides, when I hallooed out to know if I
was to have any reply. He
was by this time got in,
and muttered an answer, half of which only I heard,
the other half was lost in the rattling of his chariot
wheels. I stood for some time with my neck stretched
out, in the posture of one that was listening to catch
the glorious sounds, till looking round me, I found
myself alone at his lordship's gate.
" INIy patience," continued my son, " was now quite
exhausted : stung with the thousand indigHities I had
met with, I was willing to cast myself away, and only
wanfed the gulf to receive me. I regarded myself
as one of those vile things that nature designed should
be thrown by into her lumber-room, there to perish
in obscurity. I had still, however, half a guinea left.
and of that I thought fortune herself should not de-

prive me; but in order to be sure of this, I was
resolved to go instantly and spend it, while I had it,
and then trust to occurrences for the rest. As I was
going along with this resolution, it happened that Mr.
Crispe's office seemed invitingly open to give me a
welcome reception. In this office Mr. Crispe kindly
offers all his Majesty's subjects a generous promise
of £30 a year, for which promise all they give in

return is their liberty forlife, and permission to let
him transport them to America as slaves. I was

happy at finding a place, where I could lose my fears
in desperation, and entered this cell (for it had the
appearance of one) with the devotion of a monastic.
Here I found a number of poor creatures, all in cir-
cumstances like myself, expecting the arrival of Mr.

Crispe, presenting a true epitome of English im-
patience. Each untractable soul at variance with
fortune, wreaked her on their own hearts
injuries :
but Mr. Crispe at last came down, and all our mur-
murs where hushed. He deigned to regard me with
an air of peculiar approbation, and indeed he was the
first man who for a month past had talked to me with
smiles. After a few questions, he found I was fit for
everything in the world. He paused awhile upon

the properest for me, and slap-
means of providing
ping his forehead as he had found it, assured me,
if
that there was at that time an embassy talked of from

the synod of Pennsylvania to the Chickasaw Indians,
and that he would use his interest to get me made
secretary. I knew in my own heart that the fellow

and yet his promise gave me pleasure, there was
lied,
something so magnificent in the sound. I fairly

therefore divided my half-guinea, one half of which
went to be added to his thirty thousand pounds, and
with the other half I resolved to go to the next tav-
ern, to be there more happy than he.
"As I was going out with that resolution, I was
met at the door by the captain of a ship with whom
I had formerly some little acquaintance, and he
agreed to be my companion over a bowl of punch.
As I never chose to make a secret of my circum-
stances, he assured me that I was upon the very point
of ruin, in listening to the office-keejoer's promises ;
for that he only designed to sell me to the plantations.

But, continued he, I fancy you might, by a much
shorter voyage, be very easily put into a genteel waj'-
of bread. Take my advice. My ship sails to-morrow
for Amsterdam. What ifyou go in her as a passen-
ger ? The moment you land, all you have to do is to
teach the Dutchmen English, and I'll warrant you'll
get pupils and money enough. I suppose you under-
stand English, added he, by this time, or the deuce is
in it. I confidently assured him of that but ex- :
pressed a doubt whether the Dutch would be willing

to learn English. He affirmed with an oath that they
would be fond of it to distraction ; and upon that
affirmation I agreed with his proposal, and embarked
the next day to teach the Dutch English in Holland.
The wind was fair, our voyage short, and after having
paid my passage with half my movables, I found my-

self, fallen as from the skies, a stranger in one of the
principal streets of Amsterdam. In this situation I
was unwilling to let any time pass unemployed in

teaching. I addressed myself therefore to two or
three of those I met, whose appearance seemed most
promising ; but it was impossible to make ourselves
mutually understood. It was not till this very mo-
ment I recollected, that in order to teach the Dutch-
men was necessary that they should first
English, it
teach me Dutch. How I came to overlook so obvious

an objection is to me amazing but certain it is I ;
overlooked it.
" This scheme thus blown up, I had some thoughts

of fairly shipping back to England again : but falling
into company with an Irish student who was return-
ing from Louvain, our conversation turning upon
topics of literature (for by the way it may be ob-
served, that I always forgot the meanness of my cir-
cumstances when I could converse upon such subjects),
from him I learned that there were not two men in
his whole university who understood Greek. This
amazed me. I instantly resolved to travel to Lou-
vain, and there live by teaching Greek ; and in this
design I was heartened by my brother student, who
threw out some hints that a fortune might be got by it.
" I set boldly forward the next morning. Every
day lessened the burden of my movables, like iEsop
and his basket of bread for I paid them for my
;
lodgings to the Dutch as I traveled on. When I

came to Louvain, I was resolved not to go sneaking

to the lower professors, but openly tendered my tal-
ents to the principal himself. I went, had admittance,

and offered him my service as a master of the Greek
language, which I had been told was a desideratum
in his university. The principal seemed at first to
doubt of my abilities ; but of these I offered to con-
vince him by turning a part of any Greek author he
should fix upon into Latin. Finding me perfectly
earnest in my proposal, he addressed me thus ; You
see me, young man : I never learned Greek, and I
don't find that I have ever missed it. I have had a
doctor's cap and gown without Greek ; I have ten
thousand florins a year without Greek ; I eat heartily
without Greek ; and in short, continued he, as I don't
know Greek, I do not believe there is any good in
it.
" I was now too far from home to think of return-

ing ; so I resolved I had some
to go forward.
knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice, and now
turned what was my amusement into a present means
of subsistence. I passed among the harmless jêas-
ants of Flanders, and among such of the French as
were poor enough to be very merry ; for I ever
found them sprightly in proportion to their wants.
Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards
nightfall, I played one of my most nierry tunes, and
that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence
for the next day. I once or twice attempted to play
for people of fashion ; but they always thought my
performance odious, and never rewarded me even

with a trifle. This was to me the more extraordi-
nary, as whenever I used in better days to play for
company, when playing was my amusement, my music
never failed to throw them into raptures, and the
ladies especially but as it was now my only means,

;
it was received with contempt —a proof how ready

the world is to underrate those talents by which a
man is supported.
" In this manner I proceeded to Paris, with no de-
sign but just to look about me, and then to go for-
ward. The people of Paris are much fonder of
strangers that have money than those that have wit.
As I could not boast much of either I was no great
favorite. After walking about the town four or live
days, and seeing the outsides of the best houses, I
was preparing to leave this retreat of venal hospital-
ity, when passing through one of the principal streets,
whom should I meet but our cousin, to whom you
first recommended me. This meeting was very
agreeable to me, and I believe not displeasing to
him. He inquired into the nature of my journey to
Paris, and informed me of his own business there,

which was to collect pictures, medals, intaglios, and
antiques of all kinds for a gentleman in London, who
had just stept into taste and a large fortune. I was
the more surprised at seeing our cousin pitched upon
for this office, as he himself had often assured me he
knew nothing of the matter. Upon asking how he
had been taught the art of a cognoscento so very
suddenly, he assured me that nothing was more easy.

The whole secret consisted in a strict adherence to
two rules : the one, always to observe the picture
might have been better if the painter had taken more
pains ; and the other, to praise the works of Pietro
Perugino. But, says he, as I once taught you how
to be an author in London, I '11 now undertake to in-
struct you in the art of picture-buying at Paris.
" With this proposal I very readily closed, as it
was living, and now all my ambition was to live. I

went therefore to his lodgings, by improved my dress
his assistance, and after some time accompanied him
to auctions of pictures, where the English gentry
were expected to be purchasers. I was not a little
surprised at his intimac}^ with people of the best
fashion, who referred themselves to his taste or judg-
ment upon every picture or medal, as to an unerring
standard of taste. He made very good use of my
assistance upon these occasions for when asked his ;
opinion, he would gravely take me aside and ask

mine, shrug, look wise, return, and assure the com-
pany that he could give no opinion upon an affair of
so much importance. Yet there was sometimes an
occasion for a more important assurance. I remem-
ber to have seen him, after giving his opinion that
the coloring of a picture was not mellow enough,
very deliberately take a brush with brown varnish,
that was accidentally lying by, and rub it over the
piece with great composure before all the company,
and then ask if he had not improved the tint.
;
" When he had finished his commission in Paris,

he left me strongly recommended to several men of
distinction as a person very proper for a traveling
tutor ; and after some time I was employed in that

capacity by a gentleman who brought his ward to
Paris, in order to set him forward on his tour through
Europe. 1 was to be the young gentleman's gov-
ernor, but with a proviso that he should always be
permitted to govern himself My pupil in fact un-
derstood the art of guiding in money concerns much
better than I. He was heir to a fortune of about two
hundred thousand pounds, him by an uncle in left
the West Indies and his guardians, to qualify him for

;
the management of it, had bound him an apprentice

to an attorney. Thus avarice was his prevailing pas-
sion : all his questions on the road were, how money
might be saved ; which was the least expensive
course of travel ; whether anything could be bought
that would turn to account when disposed of again in
London ? Such curiosities on the way as could be
seen for nothing, he was ready enough to look at
but if the sight of them was to be paid for, he usually
asserted that he had been told they were not worth
seeing. He never paid a bill that he would not ob-
serve how amazingly expensive traveling was, and
all this though he was not yet twenty-one. When
arrived at Leghorn, as we took a walk to look at the
port and shipping, he inquired the expense of the pas-

sage by sea home to England. This he was in-
formed was but a trifle compared to his returning by
;
land ; he was therefore unable to withstand the temp

tation ; so paying me the small part of my salary that
was due, he took leave and embarked with only one

attendant for London.
" I now therefore was left once more upon the
world at large ; but then it was a thing I was used to.
However, my skill in music could avail me nothing in

a country where every peasant was a better musician
than I ; but by this time I had acquired another tal-
ent which answered my purpose as well, and this was

a skill in disputation. In all the foreign universities
and convents there are, upon certain days, philosophi-
cal theses maintained against every adventitious dis-
putant ; champion opposes with any

for which, if the
dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, a dinner

and a bed for one night. In this manner, therefore,
I fought my way towards England, walked along
from city examined mankind more nearly,
to city,
and, if I may
it, saw both sides of the pic-
so express
ture. My remarks, however, are but few I found :
that monarch was the best government for the poor

}'-
to live in, and commonwealths for the rich. I found

that riches in general were in every country another
name for freedom ; and that no man is so fond of lib-
j
erty himself, as not to be desirous of subjecting the
' will of some individuals in society to his own.
" Upon my England I resolved to pay
arrival in
my respects first to you, and then to enlist as a volun-
teer in the first exiêdition that was going forward
but on my journey down my resolutions were
changed, by meeting an old acquaintance, who I

found belonged to a comjDany of comedians that were
going to make a summer campaign in the country.
The company seemed not much to disapprove of me
foran associate. They all, however, apprised me of
the importance of the task at which I aimed; that
the public was a many-headed monster, and that only
such as had very good heads could please it ; that
acting was not to be learned in a day, and that with-
out some traditional shrugs, which had been on the^
stage, and only on the stage, these hundred years, I
could never pretend to please. The next difficulty
was in fitting me with parts, as almost every charac-

ter was in keeping. I was driven for some time from
one character to another, till at last Horatio was fixed
upon, which the presence of the present company has
happily hindered me from acting."
CHAPTER XXI.
THE SHORT CONTINUANCE OF FRIENDSHIP AMONG

THE VICIOUS, WHICH IS COEVAL ONLY WITH
MUTUAL SATISFACTION.
My son's account was too long to be delivered at

once ; the first part of it was begun that night, and
he was concluding the rest after dinner the next day,

when the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage at
the door seemed to make a pause in the general sat-
isfaction. The butler, who was now become my
friend in the family, informed me with a whisper, that
the Squire had already made some overtures to Miss
Wilmot, and that her aunt and uncle seemed highly
to approve the match. Upon Mr. Thornhill's enter-
ing, he seemed, at seeing my son and me, to start
back but I readily imputed that to surprise, and not
;
displeasure. However, upon our advancing to salute

him, he returned our greeting with the most apparent
candor and after a short time his presence served
;
only to increase the general good humor.

After tea he called me aside to inquire after my
daughter; but upon my informing him that my in-
quiry was unsuccessful, he seemed greatly surprised ;
adding that he had been since frequently at my house

:
in order to comfort the rest of my family, whom he

left perfectly well. He then asked if I had commu-
nicated her misfortune to Miss Wilmot or my son ;
and upon my replying that I had not told them as

yet, he greatly approved my prudence and precau-
tion, desiring me by all means to keep it a secret
" For at best," cried he, ''
it is but divulging one's
infamy and perhaps Miss Livy may not be so guilty
;
as we imagine." We were interrupted by a ser-

all
vant who came to ask the Squire in,, to stand up at

country dances so that he left me quite pleased with
:
the interest he seemed to take in my concerns. His

addresses, however, to Miss Wilmot, were too obvious
to be mistaken : and yet she seemed not perfectly
pleased, but bore them rather in compliance to the
will of her aunt than real inclination. I had even

the satisfaction to see her lavish some kind looks upon
my unfortunate son, which the other could neither ex-
tort by his fortune nor assiduity. Mr. Thornhill's
seeming composure, however, not a little surprised
me we had now continued here a week at the press-
:
mg instances of Mr. Arnold but each day the more ;
tenderness Miss Wilmot showed my son, Mr. Thorn-

hill's friendship seemed proportionably to increase
for him.
He had formerly made us the most kind assurance
of using his interest to serve the family ; but now his
generosity was not confined to promises alone. The

morning I designed for my departure, Mr. Thornhill
came to me with looks of real pleasure, to inform me
of a piece of service he had clone for his friend George. ^
This was nothing less than his having procured him

an ensign's commission in one of the regiments that
was going to the West Indies, for which he had prom-
ised but one hundred pounds, his interest having been
sufficient to get an abatement of the other two. " As
for this trifling piece of service," continued the young
gentleman, " I desire no other reward but the pleas-
ure of having served my friend ; and as for the hun-
dred pounds to be you are unable to raise it
2')aid, if
yourselves, I will advance it, and you shall repay me

at your leisure." This was a favor we wanted words
to express our sense of: I readily therefore gave my
bond for the money, and testified as much gratitude

as if I never intended to pay,
George was to depart for town the next day to
secure his commission, in pursuance of his generous
patron's directions, who judged it highly expedient to
use dispatch, least in the mean time another should
step in with more advantageous proposals. The next
morning therefore our young soldier was early pre-
pared for his departure, and seemed the only person
among us that was not affected by it. Neither the
fatigues and dangers he was going to encounter, nor
the friends and mistress — for Miss Wilmot actually
loved him — he was leaving behind, any way damped

his spirits. After he had taken leave of the rest of
the company, I gave him all I had, my blessing.
" And now, my boy," cried I, " thou art going to fight
for thy country, remember how thy brave grandfather
fought for his sacred King, when loyalty among Brit-
ons was a virtue. Go, my boy, and imitate him in
all but his misfortunes, was a misfortune to die

if it
with Lord Falkland. Go, my boy, and if you fall,

though distant, exposed, and unwept by those that
love you, the most precious tears are those with which
heaven bedews the unburied head of a soldier.'*
The next morning I took leave of the good family,
that had been kind enough to entertain me so long,
not without several expressions of gratitude to Mr.

Thornhill for his late bounty. I left them in the en-
joyment of all that happiness which affluence and
good-breeding procure, and returned towards home,
despairing of ever finding my daughter more, but
sending a sigh to heaven to spare and forgive her.
I was now come within about twenty miles of home,
having hired a horse to carry me, as T was yet but
weak, and comforted myself with the hopes of soon
seeing all I held dearest upon earth. But the night
coming on, I put up at a little public-house by the
road side, and asked company over
for the landlord's
a pint of wine. We which

sat beside his kitchen fire,
was the best room in the house, and chatted on poli-

tics and the news of the country. We happened,
among other topics, to talk of young Squire Thorn-
hill, who, the host assured me, was hated as much as
his uncle Sir WilHam, who sometimes came down to
the country, was loved. He went on to observe, that
he made it his whole study to betray the daughters
of such as received him to their houses, and after a

fortnight or three weeks' possession, turned them out

unrewarded and abandoned to the world. As we
continued our discourse in this manner, his wife, who
had been out to get change, returned, and perceiving
that her husband was enjoying a pleasure in which
she was not a sharer, she asked him in an angry tone,
what he did there ? to which he only replied in an
ironical way, by drinking her health. " Mr. Sym-
monds," cried she, " you use me very ill, and I '11 bear
it no longer. Here three parts of the business is left
for me to do, and the fourth left unfinished while ;
you do nothing but soak with the guests all day long;
whereas, if a spoonful of liquor were to cure me of a
fever, I never touch a drop." I now found what she
-
would be at, and immediately poured lier out a glass,

which she received with a curtesy, and drinking to-
wards my good health, " sir," resumed she, " it is not

so much for the value of the liquor I am angry, but
one cannot help it when the house is going out of the
windows. If the customers or guests are to be
dunned, all the burden lies upon my back : he 'd as
lief eat that glass as budge
them himself. There,
after
now, above stairs, we have a young woman who has
come to take up her lodgings here, and I don't
believe she has got any money, by her over civility.
I am certain she is very slow of payment, and I
wish she were put in mind of it." " What signifies
minding her," cried the host, " if she be slow she is
sure." " I don't know that," replied the wife; " but I
know that I am sure she has been here a fortnight.
and we have not yet seen the cross of her money."

"I suppose, my dear," cried he, "we shall have it
all in a lump." " In a lump " cried the other, " I
!
hope we may get it any way and that I am resolved

;
we will this very night, or out she tramps, bag and

baggage." " Consider, my dear," cried the husband,
" she is a gentlewoman and deserves more respect."
"As for the matter of that," I'eturned the hostess,
" gentle or simple, out she shall pack with a sassarara.
Gentry may be good things where they take ; but for
my part, I never saw much good of them at the sign
of the Harrow." Thus saying, she ran up a narrow
flight of stairs that went from the kitchen to a room
over-head ; and I soon perceived, by the loudness of
her voice, and the bitterness of her reproaches, that
no money was to be had from her lodger. I could
hear her remonstrances very distinctly :
" Out, I say ;
pack out this moment tram.p, thou infamous strumpet,

!
or I '11 give thee a mark thou won't be the better for

this What, you trumpery, to come
three months.
and take up an honest house without cross or coin to
bless yourself with ; come along I say." " dear
madam," cried the stranger, " pity me, pity a poor
abandoned creature for one night, and death will soon
do the rest." I instantly knew the voice of my poor
ruined child Olivia. I flew to her rescue, while the
woman was dragging her along by the hair, and I
caught the dear forlorn wretch in my arms. " Wel-
come, any way welcome, my dearest lost one, my
treasure, to your poor old father's bosom ! Though
11
—
the vicious forsake thee, there is jet one in the world

that will never forsake thee : though thou hadst ten
thousand crimes to answer for, he will forget them
all." O my own dear," — for minutes she could
"
say no more — " my own dearest good papa Could !
angels be kinder How do I deserve so much — The

! !
villain, I hate him and myself, to be a reproach to

such goodness. You can't forgive me, I know you
cannot." " Yes, my child, from my heart I do forgive
thee ! Only repent, and we both shall yet be happy.
We shall see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia " !
" Ah ! never, sir, never. The rest of my wretched

life must be infamy abroad, and shame at home. But,
alas ! papa, you you used to do.
look paler than
Could such a thing as I am give you so much uneas-
iness ? Surely you have too much wisdom to take the
miseries of my guilt upon yourself." " Our wisdom,
young woman," replied I. " Ah, why so cold a
name,' papa? " cried she. " This is the first time you
ever called me by so cold a name." " I ask pardon,
my darling," returned I :
" but I was going to observe,
that wisdom makes but a slow defence against trouble,

though at last a sure one." The landlady now re-
turned to know if we
more genteel
did not choose a
apartment to which assenting, we were shown a
;
room where we could converse more freely. After

we had talked ourselves into some degree of tran-
quillity, I could not avoid desiring some account of
the gradations that led to her present wretched

situation. " That villain, sir," said she, " from the
first day of our meeting, made me honorable though

private proposals."
" Villain, indeed !
" cried I ;
" and yet it in some
measure surprises me, how a person of Mr. Burchell's
good sense and seeming honor could be guilty of such
deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to
undo it."
" My dear papa," returned my daughter, " you

labor under a strange mistake. Mr. Burchell never
attempted to deceive me ; instead of that, he took
every opportunity of privately admonishing me
against the artifices of JVIr. Thornhill, who I now find
was even worse than he represented him." " Mr.

Thornhill," interrupted T; "can it be?" "Yes, sir,"
returned she " it was Mr. Thornhill who seduced
;
me who employed the two ladies, as he

; called them,
but who in fact were abandoned women of the town,
without breeding or pity, to decoy us up to London.
Their you may remember, would have cer-
artifices,
tainly succeeded, but for Mr. Burchell's letter, who

directed those reproaches at them, which we all ap-
plied to ourselves. How he came to have so much
influence as to defeat their intentions, still remains a
secret to me ; but I am convinced he was ever our
warmest, sincerest friend."
" You amaze me, my dear," cried I ;
" but now I
find my first suspicions of Mr. Thornhill's baseness
were too well grounded : but he can triumph in se-
curity, for he is rich, and we are poor. But tell me,
my child, sure it was no small temptation that could
thus obliterate all tlie impressions of such an educa-

tion, and so virtuous a disposition as thine?"
" Indeed, sir," replied she, " he owes all his triumph
to the desire I had of making him, and not myself,

happy. I knew that the ceremony of our marriage,
which was privately performed b}^ a popish priest, was
no way binding, and that I had nothing to trust to
but his honor." " What! " interrupted I, " and were
3ôu indeed married by a priest, and in orders?"
" Indeed, sir, we were," replied she, " though we were
both sworn to conceal his name." "Wliy, then, my
child, come to my arms again : and now you are a
thousand times more welcome than before ; for you
are now his wife to all intents and purposes : nor can
all the laws of man, though written upon tables of
adamant, lessen the force of that sacred connection."
" Alas, papa," replied she, " you are but little ac-
quainted with his villainies ; he has been married
already by the same priest to six or eight wives more,
whom, like me, he has deceived and abandoned."
" Has he so ? " cried I, " then we must hang the
priest, and you shall inform against him to-morrow."
— " But, sir," returned she, " will that be right, when
I am sworn to secresy ? " " My dear," I replied,
''
you have made such a promise, I cannot, nor will
if
I tempt you
to break it. Even though it may benefit
the public, you must not inform against him. In all
human institutions a smaller evil is allowed to procure
a greater good; as, in politics, a province may be
given to secure a kingdom ; in medicine, a limb may
be lopt off to preserve the body : but in religion, the

law is written, and inflexible, never to do evil. And
this law, my child, is right ; for otherwise, if we com-
mit a smaller evil to procure a greater good, certain
guilt would be thus incurred, in expectation of con-
tingent advantage. And though the advantage should
certainly follow, yet the interval between commission
and advantage, which is allowed to be guilty, may be
that in which we are away to answer for the
called
things we have done, and the volume of human ac-
tions is closed forever. But I interrupt you, my
dear; go on."
"The very next morning," continued she, " I found
what little expectation I was to have from his sin-
cerity.That very morning he introduced me to two
unhappy women more, whom, like me, he had de-
ceived, but who lived in contented prostitution. I
loved him too tenderly to bear such rivals in his affec-
tions, and strove my infamy in a tumult of
to forget
pleasures. With view I danced, dressed, and
this
talked ; but still was unhappy. The gentlemen who
visited there toldme every moment of the power of
my charms, and this only contributed to increase my
malancholy, as I had thrown all their power quite
away. Thus each day I grew more pensive, and he
more insolent, till at last the monster had the assur-
ance to offer me to a young Baronet of his acquaint-
ance. Need I describe, sir, how his ingratitude stung
me ? My answer to this proposal was almost madness.
I desired to part. As I was going, he offered me a
;
purse ; but I flung it at him with iudignation, and

burst from him in a rage, that for a while kept me
insensible of the miseries of my situation. But I
soon looked round me, and saw myself a vile, abject,
guilty thing, without one friend in the world to ap-

ply to. Just in that interval, a stage coach happen-
ing to pass by, I took a place, it being my only aim
to be driven at a distance from a wretch I despised
and detested. I was set down here, where, since my
arrival,my own anxiety and this woman's unkindness
have been my only companions. The hours of pleas-
ure that I have passed with my mamma and sister,
now grow painful to me. Their sorrows are much
but mine are greater than theirs, for mine are mixed
with guilt and infamy."
" Have patience, my child," cried I,"and I hope
things will yet be better. Take some repose to-night,
and to-morrow I '11 carry you home to your mother
and the rest of the family, from whom you will re-
ceive a kind reception. Poor woman this has gone !
to her heart : but she loves you still, Olivia, and will
forget it."
CHAPTER XXII.
OFFENCES AKE EASILY PARDONED WHERE THERE
IS LOVE AT BOTTOM.
The next morning I took my daughter behind me,

and set out on my return home. As we traveled
by every persuasion to calm her sor-
along, I strove
rows and fears, and to arm her with resolution to
bear the presence of her offended mother. I took
every opportunity, from the prospect of a fine coun-
tey, through which we passed, to observe how much
kinder Heaven was to us than we are to each other,
and that the misfortunes of nature's making were very
few. I assured her that she should never perceive
any change in my affections, and that during my life,
which yet might be long, she might depend upon a

guardian and instructor. I armed her against the
censures of the world, showed her that books were
sweet unreproaching companions to the miserable,
.and that if they could not bring us to enjoy life, they
would at least teach us to endure it.
The hired horse that we rode was to be put up

that night at an inn by the way, within about five
miles from my house and as I was willing to pre-
;
pare my family for my daughter's reception, I deter-

mined to leave her that night at the inn, and to re-

turn for her, accompanied by my daughter Sophia,
early the next morning. It was night before we
reached our appointed stage ; however, after seeing
her provided with a decent apartment, and having
ordered the hostess to prepare proper refreshments, I
kissed her, and proceeded towards home. And now
my heart caught new sensations of pleasure the
nearer I approached that peaceful mansion. As a
bird that had been frighted from its nest, my affec-
tions outwent my haste, and hovered round my little
fireside with all the rapture of expectation. I called
up the many fond things I had to say, and antici-
pated the welcome I was to receive. I already felt
my wife's tender embrace, and smiled at the joy of
my little ones. As I walked but slowly, the night
waned apace. The laborers of the day were all re-
tired to rest ; the lights were out in every cottage ;
no sounds were heard but of the shrilling cock, and

the deep-mouthed watch-dog at hollow distance. I
approached my little abode of pleasure, and before I
was within a furlong of the place, our honest mastiff
came running to welcome me.
" It was now near midnight that I came to knock
at my door ; all was still and silent ; my heart dilated

with unutterable happiness, when, to my amazement,
I saw the house bursting out in a blaze of fire, and
every aperture red with conflagration ! I gave a
loud convulsive outcry, and fell upon the pavement
insensible. This alarmed my son,who had till this
been asleep, and he perceiving the flames, instantly-

waked my wife and daughter and all running out, ;
naked, and wiJd with apprehension, recalled me to

life with their anguish. But it was only to see ob-
jects of new terror ; for the flames had by this time
caught the roof of our dwelling, part after part con-
tinuing to fail in, while the family stood with silent
agony, looking on as if they enjoyed the blaze. I
gazed upon them and upon it by turns, and then

looked round me for my two little ones ; but they
were not to be seen. misery !
" Where," cried 1,
" where are my two little ones ? " " They are burnt
to death in the flames," says my wife, calmly, " and I

will die with them." That moment I heard the cry
of the babes within, who were just awaked by the
fire, and nothing could have stopped me.
" Where,
where are my children?" cried I, rushing through

the flames, and bursting the door of the chamber in
which they were confined; "Where are my little
ones ? " " Here, dear papa, here we are," cried they
together, while the flames were just catching the bed
where they lay. I caught them both in my arms,
and snatched them through the fire as fast as possi-
ble, while, just as I was got out, the roof sunk in.
" Now," cried I, holding up my children, " now let
the flames burn on, and all my possessions perish.
Here they are ; I have saved my treasure. Here,

my dearest, here are our treasures, and we shall yet
be happy." We kissed our little darlings a thousand

times ; they clasped us round the neck, and seemed
to share our transports, while the mother laughed

and wept by turns.
I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and
after some time began to perceive that my arm to
the shoulder was scorched in a terrible manner. It
was therefore out of my power to give my son any
assistance, either in attempting to save our goods, or
preventing the flames spreading to our corn. By
this time the neighbors were alarmed, and came run-
ning to our assistance ; but all they could do was to
stand like us, spectators of the calamity. My goods,
among which were the notes I had reserved for my
daughters' fortunes, were entirely consumed, except a
box wîth some papers that stood in the kitchen, and
two or three things more of little consequence, which
my son brought away in the beginning. The neigh-
bors contributed, however, what they could to lighten
our distress. They brought us clothes, and furnished
one of our out-houses with kitchen utensils ; so that
by day-light we had another, though a wretched
dwelling, to retire to. My honest next neighbor and
his children were not the least assiduous in providing
us with everything necessary, and offering whatever
consolation untutored benevolence could suggest.
When the fears of my family had subsided, curi-
osity to know the cause of my long stay began to
take place ; having therefore informed them of every
particular, I proceeded to prepare for the reception
of our lost one, and though we had nothing but
wretchedness now to impart, I was willing to procure
;;
her a welcome to what we had. This task would

have been more difficult but for our recent calamity,
which had humbled my wife's pride, and blunted it
by more poignant afflictions. Being unable lo go for
my poor child myself, as my arm grew very painful,
I sent my son and daughter who soon returned, sup-
porting the wretched delinquent, who had not the
courage to look up at her mother, whom no instruc-
tions of mine could persuade to a perfect reconcilia-
tion ; women have a much stronger sense of

for
female error than men. "Ah, madam," cried her
mother, " this is but a poor place you are come to
after so much finery. My daughter Sophy and I can
afford but little entertainment to persons who have
kept company only with people of distinction. Yes,
Miss Livy, your poor father and I have suffered very
much of late ; but I hope Heaven will forgive you."
During this reception, the unhappy victim stood pale
and trembling, unable to weep or to reply ;
but I
could not continue a silent spectator of her distress
wherefore, assuming a degree of severity in my voice
and manner, which was ever followed with instant
submission, " I entreat, woman, that my words may
be now marked once for all ; I have here brought
you back a poor deluded wanderer : her return to
duty demands the revival of our tenderness. The

real hardships of life are now coming fast upon us
let us not, therefore, increase them by dissension

among each other. If we live harmoniously together,
we may yet be contented, as there are enough of us
to shut out the censuring world, and keep each other

in countenance. The kindness of Heaven is prom-
ised to the penitent, and let ours be directed by the
example. Heaven, we are assured, is much more
pleased to view a repentant sinner, than ninety-nine
persons who have supported a course of undeviating
rectitude. And this is right; for that single effort
by which we stop short in the down-hill path to per-
dition, is itself a greater exertion of virtue than a
hundred acts of justice."
CHAPTER XXIII.
NONE BUT THE GUILTY CAN BE LONG AND COM-

PLETELY MISERABLE.
Some assiduity was now required to make our pres-

ent abode as convenient as possible, and we were
soon again qualified to enjoy our former serenity.
Being disabled myself from assisting my son in our
usual occupations, I read to my family the few books
that were saved, and particularly- from such as, by
amusing the imagination, contributed to ease the
heart. Our good neighbors, too, came every day
with the kindest condolence, and fixed a time in
which they were all to assist at reparing my former
dwelling. Honest farmer Williams was not last
amiong' these visitors ; but heartily offered his friend-

ship. He would even have renewed his addresses to
my daughter ; but she rejected him in such a manner
as totally rep rest his future solicitations. Her grief
seemed formed for continuing, and she was the only

person of our little society that a week did not restore
to cheerfulness. She had now lost that unblushing
innocence which once taught her to respect herself
and to seek pleasure by pleasing. Anxiety now had

taken possession of her mind ; her beauty began to
;
be impaired with her constitution, and neglect still
more contributed Every tender ejDi-

to diminish it.
thet bestowed on her sister, brought a pang to her

heart, and a tear to her eye and as one vice, though
;
cured, ever plants others where it has been, so her

former guilt, though driven out by repentance, left
jealousy and envy behind. I strove a thousand
ways to lessen her care, and even forgot my own

pain in a concern for hers, collecting such amusing
passages of history as a strong memory and some
reading could suggest. Our happiness, my dear,"
"
I would say, " is in the power of one who can bring

it about a thousand unforeseen ways that mock our
foresight. If example be neccessary to prove this,
I '11 give you a story, my child, told us by a grave,

though sometimes a romancinoj historian.
" Matilda was married very young to a Neapolitan
nobleman of the first quality, and found herself a

widow and a mother at the age of fifteen. As she
stood one day caressing her infant son in the open
window of an apartment which hung over the river
Volturna, the child with a sudden spring leaped from
her arms into the flood below, and disappeared in a
moment. The mother, struck with instant surprise,
and making an effort to save him, plunged in after
but far from being able to assist the infant, she her-
self with great difficulty escaped to the opposite shore,

justwhen some French soldiers were plundering the
country on that side, who immediately made her their
prisoner.
"As the war was then carried on between the

French and Italians with the utmost inhumanity,
they were going at once to perpetrate those two ex-
tremes suggested by appetite and cruelty. This base
resolution, however, was opposed by a young officer,
who, though their retreat required the utmost expedi-

tion, placed her behind him, and brought her in safety
to his native city. Her beauty at first caught his

eye, her merit soon after his heart. They were mar-
ried : he rose to the highest posts ; they lived long
together, and were happy. But the felicity of a sol-
dier can never be called permanent : after an interval
of several years, the troops which he commanded
having met with a repulse, he was obliged to take
shelter in the city where he had lived with his wife.
Here they suffered a siege, and the was
city at length
taken. Few more various in-

histories can produce
stances of cruelty than those which the French and

Italians at that time exercised upon each other. It
was resolved by the victors, upon this occasion, to put

all the French prisoners to death; but particularly
the husband of the unfortunate Matilda, as he was

principally instrumental in protracting the siege.
Their determinations were in general executed almost

as soon as resolved upon. The captive soldier was
led forth, and the executioner with his sword stood
ready, while the spectators in gloomy silence awaited
the fatal blow, which was only suspended till the gen-
eral, who presided as judge, should give the signal.
It was in this interval of anguish and expectation that
Matilda came to take her last farewell of her husband

and deliverer, deploring her wretched situation, and
the cruelty of fate, that had saved her from perishing
by a premature death in the river Volturna, to be the
spectator of still greater calamities. The general,
who was a young man, was struck with surprise at
her beauty, and pity at her distress ; but with still
stronger emotions when he heard her mention her

former dangers. He was her son, the infant for
whom she had encountered so much danger. He

acknowledged her at once as his mother, and fell at
her feet. The rest may be easily supposed : the cap-

tive was set free, and all the happiness that love,
friendship, and duty, could confer on each, were
united."
In this manner I would attempt to amuse my
daughter : but she listened with divided attention ;
for her own misfortunes engrossed all the pity she

once had for those of another, and nothing gave her
ease. In company she dreaded contempt; and in
solitude she only found anxiety. Such was the color
of her wretchedness, w^hen we received certain infor-
mation that Mr. Thornhill was going to be married
to Miss Wilmot, for whom I always suspected he had
a real passion, though lie took every opportunity
before me to express his contempt both of her person
and fortune. This news only served to increase poor
Olivia's affliction : such a flagrant breach of fidelity
was more than her courage could support. I was

resolved, however, to get more certain information.
and to defeat, if possible, tlie completion of his de-

signs, by sending my son to old Mr. Wilmot's with
instructions to know the truth of the report, and to
deliver Miss Wilmot a letter, intimating Mr. Thorn-
hill's conduct in my family. My son went in pur-
suance of my directions, and in three days returned
assuring us of the truth of the account ; but that he
had found it which he
impossible to deliver the letter,
was therefore obliged to leave, as Mr. Thornhill and

Miss Wilmot were visiting round the country. They
were to be married, he said, in a few days, having
appeared together at church the Sunday before he
was there, in great splendor, the bride attended by
six young ladies, and he by as many gentlemen.
Their approaching nuptials filled the whole country
with rejoicing, and they usually rode out together in
the grandest equipage that had been seen in the
country for many years. All the friends of both
families, he said, were there, particularly the Squire's
uncle. Sir William Thornhill, who bore so good a
character. He added that nothing but mirth and
feasting were going forward; that all the country
praised the young bride's beauty, and the bride-
groom's fine person, and that they were immensely
fond of each other : concluding, that he could not
help thinking Mr. Thornhill one of the most happy
men in the world.
" Why, let him live if he can," returned I ;
" but,
my son, observe this bed of straw, and unsheltering
roof ; those mouldering walls, and humid floor ; my
12
wretched body thus disabled by fire,and my chil-

dren weeping round me for bread; you have come
home, my child, to all this ; yet here, even here, you
see a man that would not for a thousand worlds ex-
change situations. O, my children, if you could but
learn to commune own hearts, and know
with your
what noble company you can make them, you will
little regard the elegance and splendor of the worth-
less. Almost all men have been taught to call life a
passage, and themselves the travelers. The simili-
tude still may be improved, when we observe that

the good are joyful and serene, like travelers that
are going towards home : the wicked but by intervals
happy, like travelers that are going into exile."
My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered
by this new disaster, interrupted what I had farther
to observe. I bade her mother support her, and
after a short time she recovered. She appeared from
that time more calm, and I imagined had gained a
new degree of resolution ; but appearances deceived
me ; for her tranquillity was the languor of over-
wrought resentment. A supply of provisions, charita-
bly sent us by my kind parishioners, seemed to diffuse
new cheerfulness among the rest of the family, nor

was I displeased at seeing them once more sprightly
and at ease. Itwould have been unjust to damp their
satisfactions, merely to condole with resolute melan-
choly, or to burden them with a sadness they did not
feel. Thus once more the tale went round and the
song was demanded, and cheerfulness condescended
to hover round our little habitation.
CHAPTER XXIV.
FRESH CALAMITIES.
The next morning the sun arose with peculiar

warmth for the season, so that we agreed to break-
fast together on the honey-suckle bank ; where,

while we sat, my youngest daughter at my request
joined her voice to the concert on the trees about us.
It was in this place that my poor Olivia first met her
seducer, and every object served to recall her sadness.
But that melancholy which is excited by objects of
pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, soothes
the heart instead of corroding it. Her mother, too
upon this occasion, felt a pleasing distress, and wept,
and loved her daughter as before. " Do, my pretty
Olivia," cried she, " let us have that little melancholy
air your papa was so fond of ;
your sister Sophy has
already obliged us. Do, child, it will please your old
father." She complied in a manner so exquisitely
pathetic as moved us.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray;
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away ?
"
The only art lier gnilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover.
And wring his bosom — is to die.
As she was concluding the last stanza, to which an

interruption in her voice from sorrow gave peculiar
softness, the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage
at a distance alarmed us all, but particularly increased
the uneasiness of my eldest daughter, who, desirous
of shunning her betrayer, returned to the house with
her sister. In a few minutes he was alighted from
his chariot, and making up to the place where I was
still sitting, inquired after my health with his usual
air of familiarity. " Sir," replied I, " your present
assurance only serves to aggravate the baseness of
your character and there was a time when I would
;
have chastised your insolence for presuming thus to

appear before me. But now you are safe for age has ;
cooled my passions, and my calling restrains them."

"•
I vow, my dear sir," returned he, " I am amazed
at all this ; nor can I understand what it means ! I
hope you don't think your daughter's late excursion
"
with me had anything criminal in it?
" Go," cried I, " thou art a wretch, a poor pitiful
wretch, and every way a liar ; but your meanness se-

cures you from my anger ! Yet, sir, I am descended
from a family that would not have borne this ! And
so, thou vile thing, to gratify a momentary passion,
thou hast made one poor creature wretched for life,
and polluted a family that had nothing but honor for

!
their portion
" If she or you," returned he, ''

are resolved to be
miserable, I cannot help But you may still beit.
happy and whatever opinion you may have formed

;
of me, you shall ever find me ready to contribute to

it. We can marry her to another in a short time,
and what is more, she may keep her lover beside for ;
I protest I shall ever continue to have a true regard

for her."
I found all my passions alarmed at this new degrad-
ing proposal ; for though the mind may often be calm
under great injuries, little villainy can at any time
get within the soul, and sting it into rage. " Avoid
my sight, thou reptile " cried
!
I, " nor continue to
insult me with thy presence, Were my brave son at
home he would not suffer this but ; I am old and dis-
abled, and every way undone."
you are bent upon obliging me
" I find," cried he, "
to talk in a harsher manner than I intended. But

as I have shown you what may be hoped from my
friendship, it may not be improper to represent what
may be the consequences of my resentment. My
attorney, to whom your late bond has been trans-
ferred, threatens hard, nor do I know how to prevent
the course of justice, except by paying the money my-
self, which, as I have been at some expenses lately,
previous to my intended marriage, is not so easily to
be done. And then my steward talks of driving ^ for
1 An Irish term, descriptive of the mode which a landlord in

that countr}'- takes to enforce payment from a tenant; and with
some others wonld sufficiently indicate the country of the writer,
did we not otherwise know it.
:
the rent : it is certain he knows his duty ; for I never

trouble myself with affairs of that nature. Yet still
I could wish to serve you, and even to have you and
your daughter present at my marriage, which is
shortly to be solemnized with Miss Wilmot; it is even

the request of my charming Arabella herself, whom I
hope you will not refuse."
" Mr. Thorn hill," replied I, " hear me once for all
As to your marriage with (xny but my daughter, that I

never will consent to ; and though your friendship
could raise me to a throne, or resentment sink me to
the grave, yet would I despise both. Thou hast once

wofully, irreparably deceived me. I reposed my heart
upon thine honor, and have found its baseness.
Never more therefore expect friendship from me.
Go and possess what fortune has given thee, beauty,
riches, health, and pleasure. Go, and leave me to
want, infamy, disease, and sorrow. Yet, humbled as

T am, shall my heart still vindicate its dignity ; and
though thou hast my forgiveness, thou shalt ever have
my contempt."
" If so," returned he, " depend upon it you shall
feel the effects of tliis insolence ; and we shall shortly
see which is the fittest object of scorn, you or me."

Upon which he departed abruptly.
My wife and son, who were present at this inter-
view, seemed terrified with the apprehension. My
daughters, also finding that he was gone, came out to
be informed of the result of our conference, which,

when known, alarmed them not less than the rest.
But as to myself, I disregarded the utmost stretch of

his malevolence : he had already struck the blow, and
now I stood prepared to repel every new effort ; like
one of those instruments used in the art of war,

which, however thrown, still presents a point to re-
ceive the enemy.
We soon, however, found that he had not threat-
ened in vain ; for the very next morning his steward
came to demand my annual rent, which, by the train
of accidents already related, I was unable to pay.
The consequence of my incapacity was his driving my
cattle that evening, and their being appraised and sold
the next day for less than half their value. My wife
and children now therefore entreated me to comply
upon any terms, rather than incur certain destruction.
They even begged of me to admit his visits once
more, and used all their little eloquence to paint the
calamities I was going to endure ; the terrors of a
prison in so rigorous a season as the present, with the
danger that threatened my health from the late acci-
dent that happened by the fire. But I continued in-
flexible.
" Why, my I, " why will you thus
treasures," cried
attempt to persuade me to the thing that is not right ?
My duty has taught me to forgive him but my con- ;
science will not permit me to approve. Would you

have me applaud to the world, what my heart must
internally condemn ? Would you have me tamely sit
down and flatter our infamous betrayer ; and, to avoid
a prison, continually suffer the more galling bonds of
;
mental confinement ? No, never. If we are to be

taken from this abode, only let us hold to the right
and wherever we are thrown, we can still retire to a
charming apartment, when we can look round our

"
own hearts with intrepidity and with pleasure !
In this manner we spent that evening. Early the

next morning, as the snow had fallen in great abun-
dance in the night, my son was employed in clearing
it away, and opening a passage before the door. He
had not been thus engaged long, w^hen he came
running in, with looks all pale, to tell us that two
strangers, whom he knew to be officers of justice,
were making towards the house.
Just as he spake they came in, and approaching
the bed where I lay, after previously informing me
of their employment and business, made me their
prisoner, bidding me prepare to go with them to the

county jail, which was eleven miles off.
" My friends," said I, " this is severe weather in

which you have come to take me to a prison ; and it
is particularly unfortunate at this time, as one of my

arms has lately been burnt in a terrible manner, and
it has thrown me into a slight fever, and I want
clothes to cover me and I am now too weak and

;
old to walk far in such deep snow but if it must be ;
so" —
I then turned to my wife and children, and directed
them to get together what few things were left us,
and to prepare immediately for leaving this place. I
entreated them to be expeditious, and desired my son
to assist his eldest sister, who, from a consciousness

that she was the cause of our calamities, was fallen,
all
and had lost anguish in. insensibility. I encouraged

my wife, who, pale and trembling, clasped our af-
frighted little ones in her arms, that clung to her
bosom in silence, dreading to look round at the
strangers. In the mean time my youngest daughter
prepared for our departure, and as she received sev-
eral hints to use dispatch, in about an hour we were
ready to depart.
CHAPTER XXV.
NO SITUATION, HOWEVER WRETCHED IT SEEMS, BUT
HAS SOME SORT OF COMFORT ATTENDING IT.
We set forward from this peaceful neighborhood,

and walked on slowly. My eldest daughter being
enfeebled by a slow fever, which had begun for some

days to undermine her constitution, one of the officers,
who had a horse, kindly took her behind him ; for
even these men cannot entirely divest themselves of

humanity. My son led one of the little ones by the
hand, and my wife the other, while I leaned upon my
youngest girl, whose tears fell not for her own but
my distresses.
AVe were now got from my late dwelling about

two miles, when we saw a crowd running and shout-
ing behind us, consisting of about fifty of my poorest
parishioners. These, with dreadful imprecations,
soon seized upon the two officers of justice, and
swearing they would never see their minister go to
jail while they had a drop of blood to shed in his de-
fence, were going to use them with the greatest
severity. The consequence might have been fatal
had I not immediately interposed, and with some

difficulty rescued the officers from the hands of the
enraged multitude. My children who looked upon

my delivery now as certain, appeared transported
with joy, and were incapable of containing their rap-
tures. But they were soon undeceived, upon hearing
me address the poor deluded people, who came, as
they imagined to do me service.

" What ! my friends," cried I, " and is this the way
you love me ?
Is this the manner you obey the in-
structions I have given you from the pulpit ? Thus

to fly in the face of justice, and bring down ruin on
yourselves and me ? Which is your ringleader ?
Show me the man that has thus seduced you. As sure

as he lives he shall feel my resentment. Alas ! my
dear deluded flock, return back to the duty you owe
to God, to your country and to me. I shall yet per-
haps one day see you in greater felicity here, and
contribute to make your more happy. But
lives let
it at least be my comfort when I pen my fold for
immortality, that not one here shall be wanting."

They now seemed all repentance, and melting into
tears, came one after the other to bid me farewell. I
shook each tenderly by the hand, and leaving them
my blessing, proceeded forward without meeting any
farther interruption. Some hours before night we
reached the town or rather village, for it consisted
but of a few mean houses, having lost all its former
opulence, and retaining no marks of its ancient supe-
riority but the jail.
Upon entering we put up at the inn, where we had

such refreshments as could most readily be procured,
and I supped with my family with my usual cheerful-

ness. After seeing them properly accommodated for
that night, I next attended the sheriff's officers to the
prison, which had formerly been built for the pur-
poses of war, and consisted of one large apartment,
strongly grated and paved with stone, common to
both felons and debtors at certain hours in the four-

-and-twenty. Besides this, every prisoner had a sep-
arate where he was locked in for the night.
cell,
I expected upon my entrance to find nothing but

lamentations and various sounds of misery; but it
was very different. The prisoners seemed all em-
ployed in one common design, that of forgetting
thought in merriment or clamor. I was apprised of
the usual perquisite required upon these occasions,
and immediately complied with the demand, though
the little money I had was very near being all ex-
hausted. This was immediately sent away for liquor,
and the whole prison soon was filled with riot, laugh-
ter, and profaneness.
" How," cried I to myself, " shall men so very
wicked be cheerful, and shall I be melancholy ; I feel
only the same confinement with them, and I think I
have more reason to be happy."
With such reflections I labored to become cheer-
ful ; but cheerfulness was never yet produced by
effort which is itself painful. As I was sitting there-
fore in a corner of the jail, in a pensive posture, one

of my fellow-prisoners came up, and sitting by me,
entered into conversation. It was my constant rule
in life never to avoid the conversation of any man

who seemed to desire it : for if good I might profit
by his instruction ; if bad, he might be assisted by

mine. I found this to be a knowing man, of strong
unlettered sense, but a thorough knowledge of the
world, as it was called, or more properly speaking,
of human nature on the wrong side. He asked me
if I had taken care to provide myself with a bed,
which was a circumstance I had never once attended
to.
" That 's unfortunate," cried he, " as you are allowed
here nothing but straw, and your apartment is very
large and cold. However, you seem to be something
of a gentleman, and as I have been one myself in my
time, part of my bed-clothes are heartily at your ser-
vice."
I thanked him, professing my surjDrise at finding
such humanity in a jail in misfortunes ; adding, to

let him see that I was a scholar, " That the sage an-
cient seemed to understand the value of company in
affliction, when he said. Ton kosmon aire, ei dos ton
etairon ; and in fact," continued I, " >yhat is the world
"
if it affords only solitude ?
" You talk of the world, sir," returned my fellow-

prisoner :
" the world is in its dotage ; and yet the cos-
mogony or creation of the world has puzzled the philos-
ophers of every age. What a medley of opinions have
they not broached upon the creation of the world! San-
choniathon, 3Ianetho, Berosiis, and Ocellus Lucanus,
have all attempted it in vain. T/ie latter has these
words, Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan, winch im-

plies " — "I ask pardon, sir," cried I, " for interrupt-
ing so much learning ; but I think I have heard all this
before. Have I not had the pleasure of once seeing

you at Welbridge fair, and is not your name Ephraim
Jenkinson ? " At this demand he only sighed. " I
suppose you must recollect," resumed I, " one Doctor
Primrose, from whom you bought a horse ?"

He now at once recollected me ; for the gloominess
of the place and the approaching night had prevented
his distinguishing my features before. "Yes, sir,"
returned Mr. Jenkinson, " I remember you perfectly

well ; I bought a horse, but forgot to pay for him.
Your neighbor Flamborough is the only prosecutor I
am any way afraid of at the next assizes for he in- :
tends to swear positively against me as a coiner. I

am heartily sorry, sir, I ever deceived you, or indeed
any man ; for you see," continued he, showing his
shackles, " what my tricks have brought me to."

" Well, sir," replied I, " your kindness in offering
me assistance when you could expect no return, shall
be repaid with my endeavors to soften or totally sup-
press Mr. Flamborough's evidence, and I will send
my son to him for that purpose the first opportunity ;
nor do I in the least doubt but he will comply with

my request ; and as to my own evidence, you need be
under no uneasiness about that."
" Well, sir," cried he, " all the return I can make
shall be yours. You shall have more than half my
bed-clothes to-night, and I '11 take care to stand your
friend in tlie prison, where I think I have some in-
fluence."
I thanked him, and could not avoid being surprised
at the present youthful change in his aspect for at ;
the time I had seen him before, he appeared at least

sixty. " Sir," answered he, " you are little acquainted
with the world ; I had at that time false hair, and
have learned the art of counterfeiting every age from
seventeen to seventy. Ah ! sir, had I but bestowed
half the pains in learning a trade, that I have in learn-
ing to be a scoundrel, I might have been a rich man
at this day. But rogue as I am, still I may be your
friend, and that perhaps when you least expect it."
We were now prevented from further conversation
by the arrival of the jailer's servants, who came to
call over the prisoners' names, and lock up for the
night. A fellow also with a bundle of straw for my
bed attended, who led me along a dark narrow pas-
sage into a room paved like the common prison, and
in one corner of this I spread my bed, and the clothes
given me by my fellow-prisoner; which done, my
conductor, who was civil enough, bade me a good
night. After my usual meditations, and having
praised my Heavenly Corrector, I laid myself down,
and slept with the utmost tranquillity till morning.
^
dren chose to lie in a place which seemed to fright

them upon entrance.
" Well," cried I, " my good boys, how do you like
your bed? I hope you are not afraid to lie in this
room, dark as it appears ? "
" No, papa," says Dick, " I am not afraid to lie
anywhere where you are."

" And I," says Bill, who was yet but four years
old, " love every place best that my papa is in."
After this I allotted to each of the family what

they were to do. My daughter was particularly di-
rected to watch her declining sister's health; my
wife was to attend to me my ; little boys were to read
to me. " And as for you, my son," continued I, " it
is by the labor of your hands we must all hope to be

supported. Your wages as a day -laborer will be fully
sufficient, with proper frugality, to maintain us all,
and comfortably too. Thou art now sixteen years

old, and hast strength ; and it was given thee, my son,
for very useful purposes ; for it must save from fam-
ine your helpless parents and family. Prepare, then,

this evening to look out for work against to-morrow,
and bring home every night what money you earn
for our support."
Having thus instructed him, and settled the rest, I
walked down to the common prison, where I could
enjoy more air and room. But I was not long there
when the execrations, lewdness, and brutality, that
invaded me on every side, drove me back to my
apartment again. Here I sat for some time ponder-
13
194: VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
ing upon the strange infatuation of wretches, who,

finding all mankind in open arms against them, were
laboring to make themselves a future and a tremend-
ous enemy.
Their insensibility excited my highest compassion,
and blotted my own uneasiness from my mind. It
even appeared a duty incumbent upon me to attempt
to reclaim them. more to
I resolved, therefore, once
them
return, and, in spite of their contempt, to give
my advice, and conquer them by perseverance. Go-
ing, therefore, among them again, I informed INIr.
Jenkinson of my design, at which he laughed, but

communicated it to the rest. The proposal was re-
ceived with the greatest good humor, as it promised
to afford a new fijnd of entertainment to persons who
had now no other resource for mirth, but what could
be derived from ridicule or debauchery.
I therefore read them a portion of the service with
a loud unaffected voice, and found my audience per-
fectly merry upon the occasion. Lewd whispers,
groans of contrition burlesqued, winking and cough-
ing, alternately excited laughter. However, I con-
tinued with my natural solemnity to read on, sensible
that what I did might mend some, but could itself re-
ceive no contamination from any.

After reading I entered upon my exhortation,
\^hich was rather calculated amuse than to
at first to
reprove. I previously observed, that no other mo-
tive but their welfare could induce me to this that ;
I was their fellow-prisoner, and now got nothing by

preaching. I was sorry, I said, to hear them so very
profane ; because they got nothing by it, but might

lose a great deal :
''
for be assured, my friends," cried
I, " for you are however the world may

my friends,
disclaim your friendship, though you swore a thou-

sand oaths in a day, it would not put one penny in
your purse. Then what signifies calling every mo-
ment upon the devil, and courting his friendship,
since you find how scurvily he uses you ? He has
given you nothing here, you find, but a mouthful of
oaths and an empty belly and by the best accounts
;
I have of him, he will give you nothing that 's good

hereafter.
"If used ill in our dealings with one. man, we
naturally go elsewhere. Were -it not worth your
while, then, just to try how you may like the usage
of another master, who gives you fair promises at
least to come to him ? Surely, my friends, of all stu-
pidity in the world, his must be the greatest, who,

after robbing a house, runs to the thief-takers for pro-
tection. And yet how are you more wise ? You are
all seeking comfort from one that has already be-
trayed you, applying to a more malicious being than
any thief-taker of them all for they only decoy, and;
then hang you but he decoys and hangs, and, what

;
is worst of all, will not let you loose after the hang-
man is done."
When I had concluded, I received the compliments
of my audience, some of whom came and shook me
by the hand, swearing that I was a very honest fel-
"
low, and that they desired my further acquaintance.

I therefore promised to repeat my lecture next day,
and actually conceived some hopes of making a refor-
mation here ; for it had ever been my opinion, that
no man was past the hour of amendment, every heart
lying open to the shafts of reproof, if the archer could
but take a proper aim. When I had thus satisfied my
mind, I went back to my apartment, where my wife
prejDared a frugal meal, while Mr. Jenkinson begged
leave to add his dinner to ours, and partake of the
pleasure, as he was kind enough to express it, of my
conversation. He had not yet seen my family ; for
as they came to my apartment by a door in the nar-

row passage already described, by this means they
avoided the common prison. Jenkinson, at the first
interview, therefore, seemed not a little struck with

the beauty of my youngest daughter, which her pen-
sive air contributed to heighten : and my little ones
did not pass unnoticed.
" Alas, doctor," cried he, " these children are too
handsome and too good for such a place as this !
" Why, Mr. Jenkinson," replied I, " thank Heaven,
my children are pretty tolerable in morals and if ;
they be good, it matters little for the rest."

" I fancy, sir," returned my fellow prisoner, " that
it must give you great comfort to have all this little
family about you."

" A comfort, Mr. Jenkinson !
" replied I ; " yes, it
is indeed a comfort, and I would not be without them

for all the world ; for they can make a dungeon seem
a palace. There is but one way in this life of wound-

ing my happiness, and that is by injuring them."
" I am afraid, then, sir," cried he, " that I am in
some measure culpable ; for I think I see here (look-

ing at my son Moses), one that I have injured, and
by whom I wish to be forgiven."
My son immediately recollected his voice and feat-
ures, though he had before seen him in disguise, and
taking him by the hand, with a smile forgave him.
" Yet," continued he, " I can't help wondering at what
you could see in my face, to think me a proper mark
for deception."
" My dear sir," returned the other, " it was not
your face, but your white stockings, and the black
riband in your hair, that allured me. But no dispar-
agement to your parts, I have deceived wiser men

than you in my time ; and yet, with all my tricks, the
blockheads have been too many for me at last."
" I suppose," cried my son, " that the narrative of
such a life as yours must be extremely instructive
and amusing."
"Not much of either," returned Mr. Jenkinson.
" Those relations which describe the tricks and vices
only of mankind, by increasing our suspicion in life,
retard our success. The traveler that distrusts every

person he meets, and turns back upon the appearance
o^ every man that looks like a robber, seldom arrives
in time at his journey's end.
" Indeed I think, from my own experience, that the
knowing one is the silliest fellow under the sun. I
was thought cunning from my very childhood : when

but seven years old the ladies would sa}'' that I was a
perfect little man ; at fourteen I knew the world,
cocked my hat, and loved the ladies ; at twenty,
though I was perfectly honest, yet every one thought
me so cunning, that not one would trust me. Thus
at last Iwas obliged to turn sharper in my own de-
fence, and have lived ever since, my head throbbing
with schemes to deceive, and my heart palpitating
with fears of detection. I used often to laugh at your
honest simple neighbor Flamborough, and one way
or another generally cheated him once a year. Yet
still the honest man went forward without suspicion,
and grew rich, while I still continued tricksy and
cunning, and was poor without the consolation of be-
ing honest. However," continued he, "let me know
your case, and what has brought you here perhaps, ;
though I have not skill to avoid a jail myself, I may

extricate my friends."
In compliance with his curiosity, I informed him
of the whole train of accidents and follies that had
jjlunged me into my present troubles, and my utter
inability to get free.
After hearing my story, and pausing some minutes,
he slapt his forehead, as if he had hit upon something
material, and took his leave, saying he would try
what could be done.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.
The next morning, T communicated to my wife

and children the scheme I had planned of reforming
the prisoners, which they received with universal
disapprobation, alleging the impossibility and impro-
priety of it ; adding that my endeavors would no way
contribute to their amendment, but might probably
disgrace my calling.
• "Excuse me," returned I "these people, however ;
fallen, are still men and that is a very good title to

;
my affections. Good counsel rejected, returns to en-

rich the giver's bosom and though the instruction I
;
communicate may not mend them, yet it will as-

suredly mend myself. If these wretches, my children,
were princes, there would be thousands ready to offer
their ministry ; but, in my opinion, the heart that is
buried in a dungeon is as precious as that seated u^Don

the throne. Yes, my treasures, if I can mend them,
I will : perhaps they will not all despise me. Per-
haps I may catch up even one from the gulf, and that
will be great gain : for is there upon earth a gem so
"
precious as the human soul ?
Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the com-

mon prison, where I found the prisoners very merry,

expecting my arrival and each prepared with some
;
jail trick to play upon the doctor. Thus, as I was

going to begin, one turned my wig awry, as if by
accident, and then asked my pardon. A second who
stood at some distance, had a knack of spitting
through his teeth, which fell in showers upon my
book. A third would cry amen with such an affected

tone, as gave the rest great delight. A fourth had
slily picked my pocket of my spectacles. But there
was one whose trick gave more universal pleasure
than all the rest ; for observing the manner in which
I had disposed of my books on the table before me,
he very dexterously displaced one of them, and put
an obscene jest book of his own in the place. How-
ever, I took no notice of all that this mischievous
group of little beings could do, but went on, perfectly
sensible that what was ridiculous in my attempt
would excite mirth only the first or second time,
while what was serious would be permanent. My
design succeeded, and in less than six days some were
penitent, and all attentive.
It was now that I applauded my perseverance and

address, at thus giving sensibility to wretches divested
of every moral feeling ; and now began to think of
doing them temporal services also, by rendering their

situation somewhat more comfortable. Their time
had hitherto been divided between famine and excess,
tumultuous riot and bitter repining. Their only em-
ployment was quarrelling among each other, playing
at cribbage, and cutting tobacco-stoppers. From this
last mode of idle industry, I took the hint of setting

such as chose to work at cutting pegs for tobacconists
and shoemakers, the proper wood being bought by a
general subscription, and when manufactured sold by
my appointment; so that each earned something
every day —
a trifle indeed, but sufficient to maintain
him.
I did not stop here, but instituted fines for the
punishment of immorality, and rewards for peculiar

industry. Thus in less than a fortnight I had formed
them into something social and humane, and had the
pleasure of regarding myself as a legislator, who had
brouo-htmen from their native ferocity into friendship
and obedience.
And it were highly to be wished, that legislative
power would thus direct the law rather to reforma-
tion than severity : that it would seem convinced, that
the work of eradicating crimes is not by making
punishments familiar, but formidable. Then, instead
of our present prisons, which find or make men
guility, which inclose wretches for the commission of
one crime, and return them, if returned alive, fitted

for the perpetration of thousands we should see, as
;
in other parts of Europe, places of penitence and
solitude, where the accused might be attended by such

as could give them repentance, if guilty, or new mo-
tives to virtue, if innocent. And this, but not the
increasing punishment, is the way to mend a state.
Nor can I avoid even questioning the validity of that

right which social combinations have assumed, of

capitally punishing offences of a slight nature. In
cases of murder, their right is obvious, as it is the
duty of us all, from the law of self-defence, to cut off
that man who has shown a disregard for the life of

another. Against such all nature rises in arms : but
it is not so against him who steals my property.
Natural law gives me no right to take away his life,
as, by that, the horse he steals is as much his prop-
erty as mine. If then I have any right, it must be
from a compact made between us, that he who de-
prives the other of his horse shall die. But this is a
false compact, because no man has a right to barter

his life any more than to take it away, as it is not his
own. And beside, the compact is inadequate, and
would be set aside even in a court of modern equity,
as there is a great penalty for a very trifling con-
venience, since it is far better that two men should
live, than that one man should ride. But a compact
that is false between two men, is equally so between
a hundred, or a hundred thousand ; for as ten millions
of circles can never make a square, so the united

voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest foundation
to falsehood. It is thus that reason speaks, and un-
tutored nature says the same thing. Savages that
are directed by natural law alone, are very tender of
the lives of each other ; they seldom shed blood but
to retaliate former cruelty.
Our Saxon ancestors, fierce as they were in war,
had but few executions in times of peace : and in all

commencing governments that have the print of nat-

urestill strong upon them, scarcely any crime is held
capijtal.
It is among the citizens of a refined community

that penal laws, which are in the hands of the rich,
are laid upon the poor. Government, while it grows

older, seems to acquire the moroseness of age ; and
as if our property were become dearer in proportion
as it increased ; as if the more enormous our wealth,
the more extensive our fears, all our possessions are
paled up with new edicts every day, and hung round
with gibbets to scare every invader.
I cannot tell whether it is from the number of our
penal laws or the licentiousness of our people, that
this country should show more convicts in a year than
half the dominions of Europe united. Perhaps it is
owing to both ; for they mutually produce each other.

"When, by indiscriminate penal laws, a nation beholds
the same punishment affixed to dissimilar degrees of
guilt, from perceiving no distinction in the penalty,
the people are led to lose all sense of distinction in
the crime, and this distinction is the bulwark of all
morality. Thus the multitude of the laws produce

new vices, and new vices call for fresh restraints.
It were to be wished, then, that power, instead of
contriving new laws to punish vice ; instead of draw-
ing hard the cords of society till come to
a convulsion
burst them ; instead of cutting away wretches as use-
less before we have tried their utility ; instead of con-
verting correction into vengeance, — it were to be
;
wished that we tried the restrictive arts of govern-

meut, and make law the protector, but not the tyrant
of the peoiDle. We should then find that creatures,
whose souls are held as dross, only wanted the hand
of a refiner. We should then find that creatures, now
stuck up for long tortures, lest luxury should feel a
momentary pang, might, if properly treated, serve to
sinew the state in times of danger ; that as their faces
are like ours, their hearts are so too ; that few minds
are so base as that perseverance cannot amend ; that
a man may see his last crime without dying for it
and that very little blood will serve to cement our

security.-^
1 This just and philosophical view of our penal code has at

length, aftei* the lapse of many j-ears, made some way in public
opinion, and mitigated the rigor of several former enactments.
me, and it adds to my pain that I shall never have

an oi3portunity of sharing that happiness you prom-
ise. Happiness, I fear, is no longer reserved for me
here ; and I long to be rid of a place where I have
only found distress. Indeed, sir, I wish you would
make a proper submission to Mr. Thornhill it may

:
in some measure induce him to pity you, and it will

give me relief in dying."
" Never, child," replied I ;
" never will I be brought
to acknowledge my daughter a prostitute ; for though
the world may look upon your offence with scorn, let
it be mine to regard mark of credulity, not of
it as a
guilt. My dear, I am no way miserable in this place,
however dismal it may seem and be assured, that ;
while you continue to bless me by living, he shall

never have my consent to make you more wretched
by marrying another."
After the departure of my daughter, my fellow-
prisoner, who was by at this interview, sensibly
enough expostulated on my obstinacy in refusing a
submission which promised to give me freedom. He
observed, that the rest of my family was not to be
sacrificed to the peace of one child alone, and she
the only one who had offended me. " Besides,"
added he, " I don't know if it be just thus to obstruct
the union of man and wife, which you do at present,
by refusing to consent to a match you cannot hinder,
but may render unhappy."
" Sir," replied I, " you are unacquainted with the
man that oppresses us. I am very sensible that no sub-
mission I can make could procure me liberty even

for an hour. I am told that even in this very room a
debtor of his, no later than last year, died for want.
But though my submission and approbation could
transfer me from hence to the most beautiful apartment
he is possessed of, yet I would grant neither, as some-
thing whispers me that it would be giving a sanction
to adultery. While my daughter lives, no other mar-
riage of his shall ever be legal in my eye. Were she

removed, indeed, I should be the basest of men, from
any resentment of my own, to attempt putting asun-
der those who wish for a union. No ; villain as he is,
I should then wish him married, to prevent the con-

sequences of his future debaucheries. But now,
should I not be the most cruel of all fathers to sign
an instrument which must send my child to the grave,

merely to avoid a prison myself and thus, to escape ;
"
one pang, break my child's heart with a thousand ?
He acquiesced in the justice of this answer, but
could not avoid observing, that he feared my daugh-
ter's life was already too much wasted to keep me
long a prisoner. However," continued he, " though
"
you refuse to submit to the nephew, I hope you have

no objection to laying your case before the uncle,
who has the first character in the kingdom for every-
thing that is just and good. I would advise you to
send him a letter by the post, intimating all his
nephew's *ill usage, and my life for it, that in three

days you shall have an answer." I thanked him for
the hint, and instantly set about complying ; but I

wanted paper, and unluckily all our money had been

laid out that morning in provisions ; however, he sup-
plied me.
For the three ensuing days I was in a state of
anxiety toknow what reception my letter might meet
with but in the mean time was frequently solicited
;
by my wife to submit to any conditions rather than

remain here, and every hour received repeated ac-
counts of the decline of my daughter's health. The
third day and the fourth arrived, but I received no
answer to my letter ; the complaints of a stranger
against a favorite nephew were no way likely to suc-
ceed ; so that these hopes soon vanished like all my
former. My mind, however, still supported itself,
though confinement and bad air began to make a visi-

ble alteration in my health, and my arm that had suf-
grew worse. My children, however,

fered in the fire
sat by me, and while I was stretched on my straw,
read to me by turns, or listened and wept at my in-
structions. But my daughter's health declined faster
than mine every message from her contributed to
;
-increase my apprehension and pain. The fifth jnorn-

ing after I had written the letter which was sent to
Sir William Thornhill, I was alarmed with an ac-
count that she was speechless. Now it was that con-
finement was truly painful to me ; my soul was burst-
ing from its prison to be near the pillow of my child,
to comfort, to strengthen her, to receive her last

wishes, and teach her soul the way to Heaven ! An-
other account came : She was expiring, and yet I
was debarred the small comfort of weeping by her.

My fellow-prisoner, some time after, came with the
last account. He bade me be patient She was dead ; !
— The next morning he returned, and found me

with my two little ones, now my only companions,
who were using all their innocent efforts to comfort
me. They entreated, to read to me, and bade me not
cry, for I was now too old to weep. " And is not my
sister an angel now, papa ? " cried the eldest ;
" and
why then are you sorry for her ? I wish I were an
angel out of this frightful place, if my papa were with
me." " Yes," added my youngest darling, " Heaven,

where my sister is, is a finer place than this, and
there is none but good people there, and the people
here are very bad."
Mr. Jenkinson interrupted their harmless prattle
by observing, that, now my daughter was no more, I
should seriously think of the rest of my family, and
attempt to save my own life which was every day
declining for want of necessaries and wholesome air.
He added, that it was now incumbent on me to sacri-

fice any pride or resentment of my own to the welfare
of those who depended on me for support ; and that
I was now, both by reason and justice, obliged to try
to reconcile my landlord.
" Heaven be praised," replied I, " there is no pride
left me now : I should detest my own heart if I saw
either pride or resentment lurking there. On the
contrary, as my oppressor has been once my parish-
ioner, I hope one day to present him up an unpol-
14
luted soul at the eternal tribunal. No, sir, I have no

resentment nowand though he has taken from me
;
what I held dearer than all his treasures, though he

has wrung my —
for I am sick almost to faint-
heart,
ing, very sick, my fellow-prisoner, yet that shall —
never inspire me with vengeance. I am now willing
to approve his marriage ; and if this submission can
do him any pleasure, let him know that if I have done
him any injury I am sorry for it."
Mr. Jenkinson took pen and ink, and wrote down
my submission nearly as I had expressed it, to which
I signed my name. My son was employed to carry
the letter to Mr. Thornhill, who was then at his seat
in the country. He went, and in about six hours re-
turned with a verbal answer. He had some difficulty,
he said, to get a sight of his landlord, as the servants

were insolent and suspicious but he accidentally saw
:
him as he was going out upon business, preparing

for his marriage, which was to be in three days. He
continued to inform ns, that he stept up in the hum-
blestmanner, and delivered the letter, which when
Mr. Thornhill had read, he said that all submission
was now too late and unnecessary that he had heard ;
of our application to his uncle, which met with the

contempt it deserved ; and as for the rest, that all
future application should be directed to his attorney,

not to him. He observed, however, that as he had
a very good opinion of the discretion of the two
young ladies, they might have been the most agree-
able intercessors.
!
" Well, sir," said I to my fellow-prisoner, " you

now discover the temper of the man that oppresses
me. He can at once be facetious and cruel ; but let
him use me as he will, I shall soon be free, in spite

of all his bolts to restrain me. I am now drawing
towards an abode that looks brighter as I approach
it ; this expectation cheers my afflictions, and though
I leave a helpless family of orphans behind me, yet
they will not be utterly forsaken ; some friend will be
found to assist them for the sake of their poor father,
and some may charitably relieve them for the sake of
their heavenly Father."
Just as I had spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen
that day before, appeared with looks of terror, and
making but unable to speak. " Why, my
efforts,
love," cried why will you increase my afflictions

I, "
by your own ? What though no submissions can

turn our severe master, though he has doomed me to
die in this place of wretchedness, and though we have
lost a darling child, yet still you will find comfort in
your other children when I shall be no more." " We
have indeed lost," returned she, " a darling child.
My Sophia, my dearest is gone ; snatched from us,
carried off by ruffians !
" " How, madam," cried my
fellow-prisoner, " Miss Sophia carried off by villains
sure it cannot be."
She could only answer with a fixed look and a
flood of tears. But one of the prisoner's wives who
was present, and came in with her, gave us a more
distinct account ; she informed us, that as my wife,
my daughter, and herself were taking a walk together

ou the great road, a little way out of the village, a
230st-chaise and pair drove up to them, and instantly
stopped. Upon which a well-dressed man, but not
Mr. Thornhill, stepping out, clasped my daughter
round the waist, and forcing, her in, bid the postillion
drive on, so that they were out of sight in a moment.
" Now," cried I, " the sum of my miseries is made
up, nor is it in the power of anything on earth to give
me another pang. What ! not one left ! not to leave

me one ! The monster ! The child that was next to
my heart ! she has the beauty of an angel, and almost
the wisdom of an angel. But support that woman,
nor her fall.
let Not to leave me one " !
" Alas my husband," said my wife, " you seem to

!
want comfort even more than I. Our distresses are

great but I could bear this and more, if I saw you
;
but easy. They may take away my children, and all

the world, if they leave me but you."
My son, who was present, endeavored to moderate
her grief ; he bade us take comfort, for he hoped that
we might still have reason to be thankful. " My
child," cried T, " look round the world, and see if
there be any happiness left me now. Is not every

ray of comfort shut out, while all our bright prospects
beyond the grave " " My dear father," re-
!
only lie
turned he, " I hope there is still something that will

give you. an interval of satisfaction; for I have a
letter from my brother George." " What of him,
child ? " interrupted I, " does he know our misery ?
I hope my boy is exempt from any part of what his
wretched family suffers ? " " Yes, sir," returned he,

" he is perfectly gay, cheerful, and happy. His letter
brings nothing but good news : he is the favorite of
his colonel, who promises to procure him the very
next lieutenancy that becomes vacant."
" And are you sure of all this ? " cried my wife :
" Are you sure that nothing ill has befallen my

boy ? " " Nothing, indeed, madam," returned my
son ; " you shall see the letter, which will give you
the highest pleasure ; and if anything can procure
you comfort, I am sure that will." " But are you
sure," still repeated she, " that the letter is from him-
self, and that he is really so happy ? " " Yes,
madam," replied he, " it is certainly his, and he will
one day be the credit and support of our family."
" Then I thank Providence," cried she, " that my
last letter to him has miscarried. Yes, my dear,"
continued she, turning to me, " I will now confess,
that though the hand of Heaven is sore upon us in
other instances, it has been favorable here. By the
last letter I wrote my son, which was in the bitter-
ness of anger, I desired him upon his mother's bless-
ing, and if he had the heart of a man, to see justice
done his father and sister, and avenge our cause.
But thanks be Him that directs all things, it has
to
miscarried, and I am at rest." " Woman," cried I,
" thou hast done very ill, and at another time my
reproaches might have been more severe. Oh what !
a tremendous gulf hast thou escaped, that would have

buried both thee and him in endless ruin ! Provi-

dence indeed has here been kinder to us than we to
ourselves. It has reserved that son to be the father

and protector of my children when I shall be away.
How unjustly did I complain of being stripped of
every comfort, when still I hear that he is happy,
and insensible of our afflictions still kept in reserve ;
to support his widowed mother, and to protect his

brothers and sisters. But what sisters has he left ?
he has no sisters now ; they are all gone, robbed from

me, and I am undone." " Father," interrupted my
son, " I beg you will give me leave to read this letter,
I know it will please you." Upon which, with my
permission, he read as follows :
—
Honored Sir, —I have called off my imagina-
tion a few moments from the pleasures that surround
me, to fix it upon objects that are still more pleasing,
the dear little fire-side at home. My fancy draws
that harmless group as listening to every line of this
with great composure. I view those faces with de-
light which never felt the deforming hand of ambition
or distress ! But whatever your happiness may be
at home, T am sure it will be some addition to it to
hear, that I am perfectly pleased with my situation,
and every way happy here.
Our regiment is countermanded, and is not to leave
the kingdom. The colonel, who professes himself
my friend, takes me with him to all companies where
he is acquainted, and after my first visit I generally
find myself received witli increased respect upon re-

peating it. I danced last night with Lady G ,
and could I forget you know whom, I might be per-

haps successful. But it is my fate stillto remember
others, while I am myself forgotten by most of my

absent friends and ; in this number, I fear, sir, that I
must consider you ; for I have long expected the

pleasure of a letter from home, to no purpose.
Olivia and Sophia too promised to write, but seem to
have forgotten me. Tell them they are two arrant

little baggages, and that I am at this moment in a
most violent passion with them ;
yet still, I know not
how, though I want to bluster a little, my heart is
respondent only to softer emotions. Then tell them,

sir, that after all I love them affectionately, and be
assured of my ever remaining,
Your dutiful Son.
" In all our miseries," cried I, " what thanks have

we not to return, that one at least of our family is
exempted from what we suffer Heaven be his !
guard, and keep my boy thus happy, to be the sup-

porter of his widowed mother, and the father of these
two babes, which is all the patrimony I can now be-
queath him ! May he keep their innocence from the
temptations of want, and be their conductor in the
paths of honor " ! I had scarcely said these words,
when a noise like that of a tumult seemed to proceed
from the prison below; it died away soon after, and
a clanking of fetters was heard along the passage that
" !
led to my apartment. The keeper of the prison en-

tered, holding a man all bloody, wounded, and fet-
tered with the heaviest irons. I looked with compas-
sion on the wretch as he apjoroached me, but with
horror when I found it was my own son. "My
George ! my George ! and do I behold thee thus ?
Wounded — fettered ! Is this thy happiness ? is this
the manner you return to me ? O that this sight

could break my heart at once, and let me die !
" Where, sir, is your fortitude ? " returned my son

with an intrepid voice. " I must suffer ; my life is
^
forfeited and let them take it."
I tried to restrain my passions for a few minutes

in silence, but I thought I should have died wîth the
effort. " my boy, my heart weeps to behold thee

thus, and I cannot, cannot help it. In the moment
when I thought thee blest, and prayed for thy safety,
to behold thee thus again ! Chained, wounded
And yet the death of the youthful is happy. But I
am old, a very old man, and have lived to see this
day ! To see my children all untimely falling about
me, while I continue a wretched survivor in the midst
of ruin ! May all the curses that ever sunk a soul
fall heavy upon the murderer of my children ! May
he live, like me, to see " —
" Hold, sir," replied my son, " or I shall blush for
thee. How, sir, forgetful of your age, your holy call-
ing, thus to arrogate the justice of Heaven, and fling
1 "It is my last happiness, that I have committed no murder,

though I have lost all hopes of pardon." — First Edit.
those curses upward that must soon descend to crush
thy own gray head with destruction No, sir, let it !
be your care now to fit me for that vile death I must

shortly suffer to arm me with hope and resolution
; ;
to give me courage to drink of that bitterness which

must shortly be my portion."
" My child, you must not die : I am sure no offence
of thine can deserve so vile a punishment. My
George could never be guilty of any crime to make
his ancestors ashamed of him."
" Mine, sir," returned my son, " is, I fear, an un-
pardonable one.-^ When I received my mother's
letter from home, I immediately came down, deter-
mined to punish the betrayer of our honor, and sent
him an order to meet me, which he answered, not in
person, but by dispatching four of his domestics to
seize me. I wounded one who first assaulted me,
and I fear desperately but the rest made me their
;
prisoner. The coward is determined to put the law

in execution against me ; the proofs are undeniable ;
I have sent a challenge, and as I am the first trans-

gressor upon the statute, I see no hopes of pardon.
But 3ôu have often charmed me with your lessons
of fortitude ; let me now, sir, find them in your ex-
ample."
" And, my son, you shall find them. I am now
raised above this world, and all the pleasures it can
produce. From this moment I break from my heart
1 '*
I have sent a challenge, and that is death bj a late Act of
Parliament." — First Edit.
all the ties that held it down to earth, and will pre-
pare to fit us both for eternity. Yes, my son, I will

point out the way, and ray soul shall guide yours in
the ascent, for we will take our flight together. I
now see and am convinced you can expect no pardon
here ; and I can only exhort you to seek it at that
greatest tribunal where we both shall shortly answer.
But let us not be niggardly in our exhortation, but
let all our fellow-prisoners have a share : Good
jailer, let them be permitted to stand here while I
attempt to improve them." Thus saying, I made an
effort to rise from my straw, but wanted strength, and
was able only to recline against the wall. The pris-
oners assembled themselves according to my direc-

tions, for they loved to hear my counsel ; my son and
his mother supported me on either side ; I looked
and saw that none were wanting, and then addressed
them with the following exhortation.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE EQUAL DEALINGS OF PROVIDENCE DEMON-
STRATED WITH REGARD TO THE HAPPY AND THE
MISERABLE HERE BELOW. THAT FROM THE NA-
TURE OF PLEASURE AND PAIN, THE WRETCHED
MUST BE REPAID THE BALANCE OF THEIR SUFFER-
INGS IN THE LIFE HEREAFTER.
My friends, my children, and fellow-sufferers, wlien
I reflect on the distribution of good and evil here be-

low, I find that much has been given man to enjoy,
yet more to suffer. Though we should examine

still
the whole world, we shall not find one man so haj^py

as to have nothing left to wish for ; but we daily see
thousands, who, by suicide, show us they have noth-
ing left to hope. In this life, then, it appears that
we cannot be entirely blest, but yet we may be com-
pletely miserable.
Why man should thus feel pain ; why our wretch-
edness should be requisite in the formation of uni-
versal felicity why, when all other systems are made
;
perfect by the perfection of their subordinate parts,

the great system should require for its perfection
parts that are not only subordinate to others, but im-
perfect in themselves, — these are questions that
never can be explained, and might be useless if known.

On this subject, Providence has thought fit to elude
our curiosity, satisfied with granting us motives to

consolation.
In this situation man has called in the friendly as-
sistance of philosophy, and Heaven, seeing the inca-
pacity of that to console him, has given him the aid
of religion. The consolations of philosophy are very
amusing, but often fallacious. It tells us that life is
filled with comforts, if we will but enjoy them ; and

on the other hand, that though we unavoidably have
life is short, and they will soon be over.
miseries here,
Thus do these consolations destroy each other ; for, if
life is a place of comfort, its shortness must be mis-

ery, and if it be long, our griefs are protracted. Thus
philosophy is weak ; but religion comforts in a higher
strain. Man is here, it tells us, fitting up his mind,
and preparing it the good

for another abode. When
man leaves the body and is all a glorious mind, he
wîll find he has been making himself a heaven of hap-
piness here ; while the wretch that has been maimed
and contaminated by his vices, shrinks from his body
with terror, and finds that he has anticipated the ven-
geance of heaven. To religion then we must hold in
every circumstance of life for our truest comfort ; for
if already we are happy, it is a pleasure to think that

we can make that happiness unending and if we are ;
miserable, it is very consoling to think that there is a

place of rest. Thus, to the fortunate, religion holds
out a continuance of bliss ; to the wretched, a change
from pain.
But though religion is very kind to all men, it has
promised peculiar rewards to the unhappy the sick, :
the naked, the houseless, the heavy-laden, and the

prisoner, have ever most frequent promises in our
sacred law. The author of our religion everywhere
professes himself the wretch's friend, and, unlike the
false ones of this world, bestows all his caresses upon
the forlorn. The unthinking have censured this as
partiality, as a preference without merit to deserve it.
But they never reflect, that it is not in the power

even of Heaven itself to make the oiFer of unceasing
felicity as great a gift to the happy as to the misera-
ble. To the first, eternity is but a single blessing,
since at most it but increases what they already pos-
sess. To the latter, it is a double advantage •
for it
diminishes their pain here, and rewards them with

heavenly bliss hereafter.
But Providence is in another respect kinder to the

poor than the rich ; for as it thus makes the life after
death more desirable, so it smooths the passage there.
The wretched have had a long familiarity with every
face of terror.The man of sorrows lays himself
quietly down, without possessions to regret, and but
few ties to stop his departure : he feels only nature's
pang in the final and this is no way
separation,
greater than he has often fainted under before for :
after a certain degree of pain, every new breach that

death opens in the constitution, nature kindly covers
with insensibility.
Thus Providence has given the wretched two advan-
tages over the happy in this life — greater felicity in
dying, and in heaven all that superiority of pleasure

which arises from contrasted enjoyment. And this
superiority, my friends, is no small advantage, and

seems to be one of the pleasures of the poor man in
the parable ; for though he was already in heaven,
and felt all the raptures it could give, yet it was men-
tioned as an addition to his happiness, that he had
once been wretched, and now was comforted ; that he
had known what it was to be miserable, and now felt
what it was to be happy.

Thus, my friends, you see religion does what phi-
losophy could never do : it shows the equal dealings
of Heaven happy and the unhappy, and levels
to the
all human enjoymentsto nearly the same standard.
It gives to both rich and poor the same happiness

hereafter, and equal hopes to aspire after it but if ;
the rich have the advantage of enjoyiug pleasure here,

the poor have the endless satisfaction of knowing
what it was once to be miserable, when crowned with
endless felicity hereafter ; and even though this should
be called a small advantage, yet being an eternal one,
it must make up by duration what the temporal hap-
piness of the great may have exceeded by intense-
ness.
These are, therefore, the consolations which the
wretched have peculiar to themselves, and in which
they are above the rest of mankind ; in other respects,
they are below them. They who would know the
miseries of the poor, must see life and endure it. To
:
!
declaim on the temporal advantages they enjoy, is
only repeating what none either believe or practise.

The men who have the necessaries of living are not
poor, and they who want them must be miserable.
Yes, my friends, we must be miserable. No vain
efforts of a refined imagination can soothe the wants
of nature, can give elastic sweetness to the dank
vapor of a dungeon, or ease to the throbbings of a
broken heart. Let the philosopher from his couch
of softness tell us that we can resist all these : Alas
by which we resist them is still the greatest
the effort
pain. Death is slight, and any man may sustain it
but torments are dreadful, and these no man can en-
dure.
To us, then, my friends, the promises of happiness
in heaven should be peculiarly dear ; for if our re-
ward be in this life alone, we are then indeed of all

men the most miserable. When I look round these
gloomy walls, made to terrify as well as to - confine
us ; this light, that only serves to show the horrors
of the place ; those shackles, that tyranny has im-
posed, or crime made necessary when ; I survey these
emaciated looks, and hear those groans, ! my

friends, what a glorious exchange would Heaven be
for these. To fly through regions unconfined as air,
to bask in the sunshine of eternal bliss, to carol over
endless hymns of praise, to have no master to threaten

or insult us, but the form of Goodness himself for-
ever in our eyes ! when I think of these things death
becomes the messenger of very glad tidings ; when I
thiuk of these things, his sharpest arrow becomes the

staff of my support ; when I think of these things,
what is there in life worth having ? when I think of
what is there that should not be spurned
these things,
away ? Kings in their palaces should groan for such
advantages but we, humbled as we are, should yearn
;
for them.
And shall these things be ours ? Ours they will
certainly be if we but try for them ; and what is a
comfort, we are shut out from many temptations that
would retard our pursuit. Only let us try for them,
and they will certainly be ours ; and what is still a
comfort, shortly too ; for if we look back on a past
life, it appears but a very short span, and whatever
we may think of the rest of life, it will yet be found
of less duration ; as we grow seem to
older, the days
grow shorter, and our intimacy with time ever lessens
the perception of his stay. Then let us take comfort
now, for we shall soon be at our journey's end ; we
shall soon lay down the heavy burden laid by Heaven
upon us ; and though death, the only friend of the
wretched, for a little while mocks the weary traveler
with the view, and like his horizon still flies before
him yet the time will certainly and shortly come,
;
when we shall cease from our toil when the luxuri- ;
ous great ones of the world shall no more tread us to

the earth when we shall think with pleasure of our
;
sufferings below when we shall be surrounded with

;
our friends, or such as deserved our friendship when ;
our bliss shall be unutterable, and still, to crown all,

unending.
M
Sophy was below, and coming up with our old friend

Mr. Burchell.
Just as he delivered this news, my dearest girl
entered, and with looks almost wild with pleasure,
ran to kiss me in a transport of affection. Her
mother's tears and silence also showed her pleasure.
'•
Here, papa," cried the charming girl, " here is the
brave man to whom I owe my delivery ; to this gen-
tleman's intrepidity I am indebted for my happiness
and safety " — A kiss from Mr. Burchell, whose
pleasure seemed even greater than her's, interrupted
what she was going to add.
" Ah, Mr. Burchell," cried I, " this is but a wretched
habitation you now find us in ; and we are now very
different from what you last saw us. You were ever
our friend ; we have long discovered our errors with
regard to you, and repented of our ingratitude. After
the vile usage you then received at our hands, I am
almost ashamed to behold your face : yet I hope
you '11 forgive me, as I was deceived by a base ungen-
erous wretch, who under the mask of friendship has
undone me."
" It is impossible," cried IMr. Burchell, " that I
should forgive you, as you never deserved my resent-
ment. saw your delusion then, and as it was
I partly
out of my power to restrain, I could only pity it."
" It was ever my conjecture," cried I, " that your
mind was noble, but now I find it so. But tell me,
my dear child, how thou hast been relieved, or who
the ruffians were who carried thee away."
" Indeed, sir," replied she, " as to the villain who

carried me off, I am yet ignorant. For, as my
mamma and I were walking out, he came behind us,
and almost before I could call for help, forced me

into the post-chaise, and in an instant the horses
drove away. I met several on the road to whom I
cried out for assistance, but they disregarded my en-
treaties. In the mean time the ruffian himself used
every art to hinder me from crying out : he flattered
and threatened by turns, and swore that if I continued
but silent he intended me no harm. In the mean time
I had broken the canvas that he had drawn up, and
whom should I perceive at some distance but your
old friend "Mr. Burchell, walking along with his usual
swiftness, with the great stick, for which we used so
much to ridicule him. As we came within
soon as
hearing, I called out to him by name, and entreated
his help. I repeated my exclamations several times,
upon which with a very loud voice he bid the pos-
tillion st-op but the boy took no notice, but drove on
;
with still greater speed. I now thought he could

never overtake us, when, in less than a minute I saw
Mr. Burchell come running up by the side of the
horses, and with one blow knock the postillion to the
ground. The horses, when he was fallen, soon stopt
of themselves, and the ruffian stepping out, with oaths
and menaces drew his sword, and ordered him at his
peril to retire but Mr. Burchell running up, shivered

;
his sword to pieces, and then pursued him for near a

quarter of a mile ; but he made his escape. I was at
;
228 . VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
this time come out myself, willing to assist my deliv-
erer ; but he soon returned to me in triumph. The

postilHon, who was recovered, was going to make his
escape too but Mr. Burchell ordered him at his peril
;
to mount again and drive back to town. Finding it

impossible to resist, he reluctantly comj^lied, though
the wound he had received seemed to me at least to
be dangerous. He continued to complain of the pain

as we drove along, so that he at last excited Mr.
Burchell's compassion, who at my request exchanged
him for another, at an inn where we called on our
return."
"Welcome, then," cried I, "my child! and thou,
her gallant deliverer, a thousand welcomes ! Though
our cheer is but wretched, yet our hearts are ready to
receive you. And now, Mr. Burchell, as you have
delivered my girl, if you think her a recompense, she
is yours ; if you can stoop to an alliance with a family
so poor as mine, take her, obtain her consent, as I
know you have her heart, and you have mine. And
let me tell you, sir, that I give you no small treasure
she has been celebrated for beauty, it is true, but that

is not my meaning, I give you ujd a treasure in her
mind."
" But I suppose, sir," cried Mr. Burchell, " that
you are apprised of my circumstances, and of my in-
cajDacity to support her as she deserves?"

"If your present objections," replied I, "be meant
as an evasion of my offer, I desist : but I know no
man so worthy to deserve her as you ; and if I could
give her thousands, and thousands sought her from

me, yet my honest brave Burchell should be my
dearest choice."
To all this his silence
alone seemed to give a mor-
tifying and without the least reply to my
refusal,
offer, he demanded if he could not be furnished with
refreshments from the next inn to which being an-
;
swered in the affirmative, he ordered them to send in

the best dinner that could be provided upon such
short notice. He bespoke also a dozen of their best
wine, and some cordials for me ; adding, with a smile,
that he would stretch a little for once, and, though in
a prison, asserted he was never better disposed to be
merry. The waiter soon made his appearance, with
preparations for dinner : a table was lent us by the
jailer,who seemed remarkably assiduous the wine ;
was disposed in order, and two very well-dressed

dishes were brought in.
My daughter had not yet heard of her poor broth-
er 's melancholy situation, and we all seemed unwill-
ing to damp her cheerfulness by the relation. But it
was in vain that I attempted to appear cheerful, the
circumstances of my unfortunate son broke through
all efforts to dissemble ; so that I was at last obliged
to damp our mirth by relating his misfortunes, and
wishing that he might be permitted to share with us
in this little interval of satisfaction. After my guests
were recovered from the consternation my account
had produced, I requested also that Mr. Jenkinson, a
fellow-prisoner, might be admitted, and the jailer
;
granted my request with au air of unusual submission.

The clanking ofmy son 's irons was no sooner heard
along the passage, than his sister ran impatiently to
meet him ; while Mr. Burchell, in the mean time,
asked me if my son 's name was George ; to which
replying in the affirmative, he still continued silent.
As soon as my boy entered the room, I could perceive

he regarded Mr. Burchell with a look of astonish-
ment and reverence. " Come on," cried I, " my son
though we are fallen very low, yet Providence has
been pleased to grant us some small relaxation from
pain. Thy sister is restored to us, and there is her
deliverer : to that brave man it is that I am indebted
for yet having a daughter ; give him, my boy, the
hand of friendship, he deserves our warmest grati-
tude."
My son seemed all this while regardless of what I
said, and still continued fixed at respectful distance.
" My dear brother," cried his sister, " why don't you
thank my good deliverer ? the brave should ever love
each other."
He still continued his silence and astonishment, till
our guest at last perceived himself to be known, and,

assuming all his native dignity, desired my son to
come forward. Never before had I seen anything
so truly majestic as the air he assumed upon this
occasion. The greatest object in the universe, says
a certain philosopher, is a good man struggling with
adversity; yet there is still a greater, which is the
good man that comes to relieve it. After he had
regarded my son for some time with a- superior air,
" I again find," said he, " unthinking boy, that the
same crime " —
But here he was interrupted by one
of tlie jailer's who came to inform us that
servants,
a person of distinction, who had driven into town
with a chariot and several attendants, sent his respects
to the gentleman that was with us, and begged to
know when he should think proper to be waited
upon. "Bid the fellow wait," cried our guest, " till
I shall have leisure to receive him " and then turn- ;
ing to my son, " I again find, sir," proceeded he, " that
you are guilty of the same offence, for which you once
had my reproof, and for which the law is now prepar-
ing its justest pvmishments. You imagine, perhaps,
that a contempt for your own life gives you a right
to take that of another : but where, sir, is the differ-
ence between a duellist who hazards a life of no
value, and the murderer who acts with greater secu-
rity ? Is it any diminution of the gamester's fraud,
"
when he alleges that he has staked a counter ?
" Alas, sir," cried I, " whoever you are, pity the
poor misguided creature ; for what he has done was

in obedience to a deluded mother, who, in the bitter-
ness of her resentment, required him, upon her bless-

ing, to avenge her quarrel. Here, sir, is the letter,
which will serve to convince you of her imprudence,
and diminish his guilt."
He took the letter and hastily read it over. " This,"
says he, " though not a perfect excuse, is such a palli-
ation of his fault as induces me to forgive him. And

;
now, sir," continued he, kindly taking my son by the
hand, " I see you are suqjrised at finding me here

but I have often visited prisons upon occasions less
interesting. I am now come to see justice done a
worthy man, for whom I have the most sincere
esteem. I have long been a disguised spectator of thy
father's benevolence. T have at his little dwelling
enjoyed respect uncontaminated by flattery and have ;
received that happiness that courts could not give,

from the amusing simplicity round his fireside. My
nephew has been apprised of my intentions in coming
here,and I find is arrived. It would be wronging
him and you to condemn him without examination ;
if there be injury, there shall be redress ; and this I
may say without boasting, that none have ever taxed

the injustice of Sir William ThornhilL"
We now found the personage whom we had so long
entertained as a harmless amusing companion, was no
other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to
whose virtues and singularities scarcely any were
strangers. The poor Mr. Burchell was in reality a
man of large fortune and great interest, to whom
senates listened with apjDlause, and whom party heard
with conviction ; who was the friend of his country,
but loyal to his king. My poor wdfe, recollecting her
former familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehen-
sion but Sophia, who a few moments before thought
;
him her own, now perceiving the immense distance

to which he was removed by fortune, was unable to
conceal her tears.
;
"Ah, sir," cried my wife with a piteous aspect,

" how is it possible that I can ever liave your for-
giveness ? The slights you received from me the last
time I had the honor of seeing you at our house, and
the jokes which I audaciously threw out — these
jokes, sir, I fear, can never be forgiven."
" My dear good lady," returned he with a smile,
"if you had your joke, I had my answer: I'll leave
it to all the company if mine were not as good as

yours. To say the truth, I know nobody whom I
am disposed to be angry with at present, but the
fellow who so frighted my little girl here. I had not
even time to examine the rascal's person so as to
describe him in an advertisement. Can you tell me,
Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him
"
again ?
" Indeed, sir," replied she, " I can't be positive

yet now mark over one
I recollect he had a large
of his eyebrows." " I ask pardon, madam," inter-
rupted Jenkinson, who was by, " but be so good as

"
to inform me if the fellow wore his own red hair ?
" Yes, I think so," cried Sophia. " And did your
honor," continued he, turning to Sir V/illiam, " ob-

serve the length of his legs ? " "I can't be sure of
their length," cried the Baronet, " but I am convinced
of their swiftness ; for he outran me, which is what I
thought few men in the kingdom could have done."

" Please your honor," cried Jenkinson, " I know the
man : it is certainly the same ; the best runner in
England he has beaten Pinwire of Newcastle
; ; Tim-
othy Baxter is his name. I know him perfectly, and

the very place of his retreat this moment. If your
Honor will bid Mr. Jailer let two of his men go
with me, I '11 engage to produce him to you in an
hour at farthest." Upon was called, this the jailer
who instantly appearing. Sir William demanded if he

knew him. " Yes, please your honor," replied the
jailer, "I know Sir William Thornhill well, and
everybody that knows anything of him will desire to

know more of him." ''
Well, then," said the Baronet,
" my request is that you will permit this man and
two of your servants to go upon a message by my au-
thority ; and as I am in the commission of the peace,
I undertake to secure you." " Your promise is suffi-
cient," replied the other, " and you may at a moment's

warning send them over England whenever your
honor thinks fit."
In pursuance of the jailer's compliance, Jenkinson

was dispatched in search of Timothy Baxter, while
we were amused with the assiduity of our youngest
boy Bill, who had just come in and climbed up Sir
William's neck in order to kiss him. His mother
was immediately going to chastise his familiarity, but
the worthy man prevented her and taking the child, ;
all ragged as he was, upon his knee, " What, Bill, you
chubby rogue," cried he, ''

do you remember your old
friend Burchell ? and Dick too, my honest veteran,
are you here ? you shall find I have not forgot you."
So saying, he gave each a large piece of gingerbread,
which the poor fellows eat very heartily, as they had
got that morning but a very scanty breakfast.
We now sate down to dinner, which was almost

cold ; but previously, my arm still continuing painful,
Sir William wrote a prescription, for he had made
the study of physic his amusement, and was more
than moderately skilled in the profession : this being
sent to an apothecary who lived in the place, my arm
was dressed, and I found almost instantaneous relief.
We were waited upon at dinner by the jailer him-
self, who was
willing to do our guest all the honor in
his power. But before we had well dined, another
message was brought from his nephew, desiring per-
mission to appear in order to vindicate his innocence
and honor with which request the Baronet complied,
;
and desired Mr. Thornhill to be introduced.

CHAPTER XXXI.
FORMER BENEVOLENCE NOAV REPAID WITH UNEX-
PECTED INTEREST.
Mr. Thornhill made his appearance with a

smile, which he seldom wanted, and was going to em-
brace his uncle, which the other repulsed with an air
of disdain. " No fawning, sir, at present," cried the
Baronet, with a look of severity ;

" the only way to
my heart is by the road of honor ; but here I only

see complicated instances of falsehood, cowardice, and
oppression. How is it, sir, that this poor man, for
whom I know you professed a friendship, is used thus
hardly? His daughter vilely seduced as a recom-
pense for his hospitality, and he himself thrown into
prison, perhaps but for resenting the insult? His
son, too, whom you feared to face as a man " —
" Is it possible, sir," interrupted his nephew, " that
my uncle could object that as a crime, which his
repeated instructions alone have persuaded me to
"
avoid ?
" Your rebuke," cried Sir William, " is just ; you

have acted in this instance prudently and well, though
not quite as your father would have done : my
brother, indeed, was the soul of honor ; but thou —
Yes, jou liave acted, in this instance, perfectly right,

and it has my warmest apjDrobation."
''
And I hope," said his nephew, " that the rest of
my conduct will not be found to deserve censure. I
appeared, sir, with this gentleman's daughter at some
places of public amusement: thus, what was levity,
scandal called by a harsher name, and it was reported
that I had debauched her. I waited on her father in

person, willing to clear the thing to his satisfaction,
and he received me only with insult and abuse. As
for the rest with regard to his being here, my attor-
ney and steward can best inform you, as I commit

the management of business entirely to them. If he
has contracted debts, and is unwilling, or even unable
to pay them, it is their business to proceed in this
manner ; and I see no hardship or injustice in pursu-
ing the most legal means of redress."

" If this," cried Sir William, " be as
you have stated
it, there is nothing unpardonable and in your offence ;
though your conduct might have been more generous

in not suffering this gentleman to be oppressed by
subordinate tyranny, yet it has been at least equita-
ble."
" He cannot contradict a single particular," replied
the Squire ;
" I defy him to do so ; and several of my
servants are ready to attest what I say. Thus, sir,"
continued he, finding that I was silent, for in fact I

could not contradict him ;
" thus, sir, my own inno-
cence is vindicated ; but though at your entreaty, I
am ready to forgive this gentleman every other of-
fence, yet bis attempts to lessen me in your esteem,

excite a resentment that I cannot govern ; and this,
too, at a time when his son was actually preparing to
take away my life ; this, I say, was such guilt, that
I am determined to let the law take its course. I

have here the challenge that was sent me, and two
witnesses to prove it : one of my servants has been
wounded dangerously : and even though my uncle
himself should dissuade me, whicli I know he will
not, yef I will see public justice done, and he shall

» suffer for it."
" Thou monster," cried my wife, " hast thou not
had vengeance enough already, but must my poor
boy feel thy cruelty? I hope that good Sir William
will protect us ; for my son is as innocent as a child :
I am sure he is, and never did harm to man."

" Madam," replied the good man, " your wishes for
his safety are not greater than mine ; but I am sorry
to find his guilt too plain ; and if my nephew per-
sists " — But the appearance of Jenkiuson and the
jailer's two servants now called off our attention,
who entered, hauling in a tall man, very genteelly

dressed, and answering the description already given
of the rufRan who had carried off my daughter :
" Here," cried Jenkinson, pulling him in, " here we

have him ; and if ever there was a candidate for Ty-
burn, this is one."
The moment Mr. Thornhill perceived the prisoner,
and Jenkinson who had him in custody, he seemed
to shrink back with terror. His face became pale
;
with conscious guilt, and he would have withdrawn ;
but Jenkinson, who perceived his design, stopt him.

" What, Squire," cried he, " are you ashamed of your
two old acquaintances, Jenkinson and Baxter ? but
this is the way that all great men forget their friends,
though I am resolved we will not forget you. Our
prisoner, please your honor," continued he, turning
to Sir William, " has already confessed all. This is
the gentleman reported to be so dangerously wounded.

He declares that it was Mr. Thornhill who first put
him upon this affair ; that he gave him the clothes he
now wears, to appear like a gentleman ; and furnished
him with the post-chaise. The plan was laid between
them, that he should carry off the young lady to a
place of safety, and that there he should threaten and
terrify her ; but Mr. Thornhill was to come in, in the
mean time, as if by accident, to her rescue ; and that
they should fight a while, and then he was to run
off, — by which Mr. Thornhill would have the better
opportunity of gaining her affections himself, under
the character of her defender."
Sir William remembered the coat to have been
worn by his nephew, and all the rest the prisoner
himself confirmed by a more circumstantial account
concluding, that Mr. Thornhill had often declared to
him that he was in love with both sisters at the same
time.
" Heavens !
" cried Sir William, " what a viper have
I been fostering in my bosom ! And so fond of pub-
lic justice, too, as he seemed to be ! But he shall
"
have it ! secure him, Mr. Jailer ! — yet, hold ; I fear

there is not legal evidence to detain him."
Upon this Mr. Thornhill, with the utmost humility,
entreated that two such abandoned wretches might
not be admitted as evidences against him, but that
his servants should be examined. "• Your servants
!
replied Sir William ;

" wretch ! call them yours no
longer ; but come, let us hear what those fellows
have to say ; let his butler be called."
When the butler was introduced, he soon perceived
by his former master's looks that all his power was
now over. " Tell me," cried Sir William, sternly,
" have you ever seen your master, and that fellow
dressed up in his clothes, in company together ?
" Yes, please your honor," cried the butler ;

" a thou-
sand times : he was the man that always brought him

his ladies." " How," interrupted young Mr. Thorn-
hill, " this to my face !
" " Yes," replied the butler,
" or to any man's face. To tell you a truth. Master
Thornhill, I never either loved or liked you, and I
don't care if I tell you now a piece of my mind."
"Now then," cried Jenkinson, " tell his honor whether
you know anything of me." " I can't say," replied the
butler, " that I know much good of you. The night

that gentleman 's daughter was deluded to our house,
you were one of them." " So then," cried Sir Wil-
liam, " I find you have brought a very fine witness to
prove your innocence thou stain to humanity to as- !
sociate with such wretches ! But," continuing his ex-

amination, "you tell me, Mr. Butler, that this was
the person who brought him this old gentleman's

daughter." "No, please your honor," replied the
butler, " he did not bring her, for the Squire, himself,
undertook that business ; but he brought the priest
that pretended to marry them." " It is but too
true," cried Jenkinson, " I cannot deny it ; that was
the employment assigned to me, and I confess it to
my confusion."
" Good heavens " exclaimed the Baronet, " how
!
every new discovery of his villainy alarms me All !
his guilt is now too plain, and I find his prosecution

was dictated by tyranny, cowardice, and revenge. At
my request, Mr. Jailer, set this young officer, now
your prisoner, free, and trust to me for the conse-
quences. I'll make itmy business to set the affair
in a proper light to my friend the magistrate, who
has committed him. But where is the unfortunate
young lady herself? Let her appear to confront this
wretch : know by what arts he has seduced
I long to
her. Entreat her to come in. Where is she ? "
" Ah, sir," said I, " that question stings me to
the heart : I was once indeed happy in a daughter,

but her miseries " — Another interruption here pre-
vented me ; for who should make her appearance but
Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was next day to have
been married to Mr. Thornhill? Nothing could
equal her surprise at seeing Sir William and his
nephew here before her
for her arrival was quite
;
accidental. happened that she and the old gentle-

It
man, her father, were passing through the town on
16
their way to her aunt's, who had insisted that her

nuptials with Mr. Thornhill should be consummated
at her house ; but stopping for refreshment, they put
up at an inn at the other end of the town. It was
there, from the window, that the young lady happened
to observe one of my little boys playing in the street,
and instantly sending a footman to bring the child to

her, she learnt from him some account of our misfor-
tunes ; but was still kept ignorant of young Mr.
Thornhiirs being the cause. Though her father
made several remonstrances on the impropriety of
going to a prison to visit us, yet they were inef-
fectual ; she desired the child to conduct her, which
he did, and it was thus she surprised us at a juncture
so unexpected.
Nor can T go on without a reflection on those ac-
cidental meetings, which, though they happen every
day, seldom excite our surprise but upon some ex-
traordinary occasion. To what a fortuitous concur-
rence do we not owe every pleasure and convenience
of our lives ! How many seeming accidents must
unite before we can be clothed or fed ! The peasant
must be disposed to labor, the shower must fall, the
wind fill the merchant's sail, or numbers must want
the usual supply.
We all continued silent for some moments, while
my charming pupil, which was the name T generally
gave this young lady, united in her looks compassion
and astonishment, which gave new fiuishings to her
beauty. '• Indeed, my dear Mr. Thornhill," cried she
to tlie Squire, who she supposed was come here to suc-

cor, and not to oppress us, " I take it a little unkindly
that you should come here without me, or never in-
form me of the situation of a family so dear to us

both : you know I should take as much pleasure in
contributing to the relief of my reverend old master
here, whom I shall ever esteem, as you can. But I
find that, like your uncle, you take a pleasure in do-
ing good in secret."
" He find pleasure in doing good " cried Sir Wil-
!
liam, interrupting her. " No, my dear, his pleasures

are as base as he is. You see in. him, madam, as
complete a villain as ever disgraced humanity. A
wretch, who, after having deluded this poor man 's
daughter, after plotting against the innocence of her
sister, has thrown the father into prison, and the eld-
est son into fetters, because he had the courage to face
her betrayer. And give me leave, madam, now to
congratulate you upon an escape from the embraces
of such a monster."
" goodness," cried the lovely girl, " how have I
been deceived ! Mr. Thornhill informed me for cer-
tain, that this gentleman's eldest son, Captain Prim-
rose, was gone off to America with his new-married
lady."
" My sweet miss," cried my wife, " he has told you
nothing but falsehoods. My son George never left
the kingdom, nor ever was married. Though you

have forsaken him, he has always loved you too well
to think of anybody else ; and I have heard him say
he would die a bachelor for your sake/' She then

proceeded to expatiate upon the sincerity of her son's
passion. She set his duel with Mr. Thornhill in a
proper light ; from thence she made a rapid digression

to the Squire's debaucheries, his pretended marriages,
and ended with a most insulting picture of his cow-
ardice.
" Good Heaven !
" cried Miss Wilmot, " how very
near have I been to the brink of ruin ! Ten thou-
sand falsehoods has this gentleman told me. He had
at last art enough to persuade me that my promise to
the only man I esteemed was no longer binding, since
he had been unfoithful. By his falsehoods I was
taught to detest one equally brave and generous."
By this time my son was freed from the incum-
brances of justice, as the person supposed to be
wounded was detected to be an impostor. Mr. Jen-
kinson also, who had acted as his valet de chambre,
had dressed up his hair, and furnished him with what-
evêr was necessary to make a genteel appearance.
He now, therefore, entered handsomely dressed in his
regimentals ; and without vanity (for I am above it),
he appeared as handsome a fellow as ever wore a

military dress. As he entered, he made Miss Wil-
mot a modest and distant bow, for he was not as yet
acquainted with the change which the eloquence of
his mother had wrought in his favor. But no deco-
rums could restrain the impatience of his blushing
mistress to be forgiven. Her tears, her looks, all
contributed to discover the real sensations of her

heart, for having forgotten her former promise, and

having suffered herself to be deluded by an impostor.
My son appeared amazed at her condescension, and

<)ould scarcely believe it real. " Sure, mad^m," cried
he, " this is but delusipn! I can never have merited

this ? To be blessed thus, isto be too happy." " No,
sir," replied she ; " I have been deceived, basely de-
ceived, else nothing could have ever made me unjust
to my promise. You know my friendship, you have

long known it ; but forget what I have done, and as
you once had my
warmest vows of constancy, you
shall now have them repeated and be assured, that if
;
your Arabella cannot be yours, she shall never be

another's." " And no other's you shall be," cried Sir
William, " if I have any influence with your father."
This hint was sufficient for my son Moses, who im-

mediately flew to the inn where the old gentleman
was, to inform him of every circumstance that had hap-
pened. But in the mean time the Squire, perceiving
that he was on every side undone, now finding that
no hopes were left from flattery or dissimulation, con-
cluded that his wisest way would be to turn and face
his pursuers. Thus, laying aside all shame, he ap-
peared the open hardy villain. " I find then," cried
he, " that I am to expect no justice here ; but I am

resolved it shall be done me. You shall know, sir,"
turning to Sir William, " I am no longer a poor de-

pendent upon your favors ; I scorn them. Nothing
can keep Miss Wilmot's fortune from me, which, I
thank her father's assiduity, is pretty large. The
articles and a bond for her fortune are signed, and

safe in my possession. It was her fortune, not her
person, that induced me to wish for this match ; and
possessed of the one, let who will take the other.
This was an alarming blow. Sir William was sen-
sible of the justice of his claims, for he had been in-
strumental in drawing up the marriage articles him-

self. Miss Wilmot, therefore, perceiving that her
fortune was irretrievably lost, turning to my son, she
asked if the loss of fortune could lesson her value to
him ? " Though fortune," said she, " is out of my
power at least I have my hand to give."
" And that, madam," cried her real lover, " was
indeed all you ever had to give at least all that
that ;
I ever thought worth the acceptance. And I now

protest, my Arabella, by all that 's happy, your want
of fortune this moment increases my pleasure, as it
serves to convince my sweet girl of my sincerity."

Mr. "Wilmot now entering, he seemed not a little
pleased at the danger his daughter had just escaped,

and readily consented to a dissolution of the match.
But was secured to
finding that her fortune, which
Mr. Thornhill by bond, would not be given up, noth-
ing could exceed his disappointment. He now saw
that his money must all go to enrich one who had no
fortune of his own. He could bear his being a rascal,
but to want an equivalent to his daughter's fortune
was wormwood. He sat therefore for some minutes
employed in the most mortifying speculations, till
Sir William attempted to lessen his anxiety. "I
must confess, sir," cried he, " that your present dis-
appointment does not entirely displease me. Your
immoderate passion for wealth is now justly pun-
ished. But though the young lady cannot be rich,
she has still a competence sufficient to give content.
Here you see an honest young soldier, who is willing
to take her without fortune : they have long loved
each other ; and for the friendship I bear his father,
my interest shall not be wanting in his promotion.
Leave, then, that ambition which disappoints you, and
foronce admit that happiness which courts your ac-
ceptance."
" Sir William," replied the old gentleman, " be
assured I never yet forced her inclinations, nor will I
now. If she still continues to love this young gen-
tleman, let her have him with all my fieart. There
is still, thank Heaven, some fortune left, and your
promise will make it Only let my
something more.
old friend here (meaning me) give me a promise of
settling six thousand pounds upon my girl, if ever he
should come to his fortune, and I am ready this night
to be the first to join them together."
As it now remained with me to make the young
couple happy, I readily gave a promise of making
the settlement he required, which to one who had
such little expectations as I, was no great favor. We
had now therefore the satisfaction of seeing them fly
into each other's arms in transport. " After all my
misfortunes," cried my son George, "'
to be thus re-
warded ! Sure this is more than I could ever have
presumed to hope for. To be possessed of all that 's
good, and after such an interval of pain ! My warm-

"
est wishes could never rise so high !
" Yes, my George," returned his lovely bride,

" now let the wretch take my fortune ; you are
since
happy without it, so am I. O what an exchange
have I made from the basest of men to the dearest,
best ! Let him enjoy our fortune, I now can be

happy even in indigence." " And I promise you,"
cried the Squire, with a malicious grin, " that I shall
be very happy with what you despise." " Hold, hold,
sir," cried Jenkinson, " there are two words to that
bargain. As for that lady's fortune, sir, you shall

never touch a single stiver of it. Pray, your honor,"
continued he to Sir William, "can the Squire have
this lady's fortune if he be married to another?"
"Flow can you make such a simple demand?" re-
plied the Baronet :
" undoubtedly he cannot." " I
am sorry for that," cried Jenkinson ;

" for as this
gentleman and I have been old fellow-sporters, I have

a friendship for him. But I must declare, well as I
love him, that this contract is not worth a tobacco-
stopper, for he is married already." You lie, like a
"
rascal," returned the Squire, who seemed roused by

this insult ; " I never was legally married to any
woman."
" Indeed, begging you honor's pardon," replied the
other, " you were and I hope you will show a
;
proper return of friendship to your own honest Jenk-

inson, who brings you a wife ; and if the company
restrain their curiosity a few minutes, they shall see
her." So saying, he went off with his usual celerity,
and left us all unable to form any probable conjec-

ture as to his design. " Ay, let him go," cried the
Squire ; " whatever else I may have done, I defy him

there. I am too old now to be frightened with
squibs."
"I am surprised," said the Baronet, "what the
fellow can intendby this. Some low piece of humor,

I suppose." "Perhaps, sir," replied I, "he may
have a more serious meaning. For when we reflect
on the various schemes this gentleman has laid to
seduce innocence, perhaps some one, more artful than
the rest, has been found able to deceive him. When
we consider what numbers he has ruined, how many
parents now feel with anguish the infamy and the
contamination which he has brought into their fami-
lies, it would not surprise me if some one of them —
Amazement ! Do I see my lost daughter ? do I hold
her ? It is, it is my life, my happiness. I thought
thee lost, my Olivia, yet still I hold thee — and still
thou shalt live to bless me." The warmest transports
of the fondest lover were not greater than mine,

when I saw him introduce my child, and held my
daughter in my arms, whose silence only spoke her
raptures.
" And art thou returned to me, my darling," cried
I, " to be my comfort in age " ! " That she is," cried
Jenkinson ;
" and make much of her, for she is your
own honorable child, and as honest a woman as any
in the whole room, let the other be who she will.

And as for you, Squire, as sure as you stand there,
thisyoung lady is your lawful wedded wife. And to

convince you that I sjêak nothing but truth, here is
the license by which you were married together."
So saying, he put the license into the Baronet's hands,
who read it, and found it perfect in every respect.
" And now, gentlemen," continued he, " I find you
are surprised at all this ; but a few words will explain
the difficulty. That there Squire of renown, for whom
I have a great friendship (but that's between our-
selves), has often employed me in doing odd little
things for him. Among the rest, he commissioned

me to procure him a false license and a false priest,
in order to deceive this young lady. But as I was

very much his friend, what did I do, but went and
got a true license and a true priest, and married them
both as fast as the cloth could make them. Perhaps
you '11 think it was generosity that made me do all
this. But no to my shame I confess it, my only
:
design was to keep the license, and let the Squire

know that I could prove it upon him whenever I
thought proper, and so make him come down when-
ever I wanted money." A burst of pleasure now
seemed to fill the whole apartment ; our joy reached
even to the common room, where the prisoners them-
selves sympathized.
And shook their chains

In transport and rude harmony.
Happiness was expanded upon every face, and even

Olivia's cheek seemed flushed with pleasure. To be
thus restored to reputation, to friends and fortune at
once, was a rapture sufficient to stop the progress of
decay, and restore former health and vivacity. But

perhaps among all, there was not one who felt sincerer
pleasure than I. Still holding the dear loved child in

my arms, I asked my heart if these transports were
not delusion. " How could you," cried I, turning to
Mr. Jenkinson, " how could you add to my miseries
by the story of her death ? But it matters not : my
pleasure at finding her again is more than a recom-
pense for the pain."
'•As to your question," replied Jenkinson, " that is
easily answered. I thought the only probable means

of freeing you from prison, was by submitting to the
Squire, and consenting to his marriage with the other
young lady. But these you had vowed never to
grant while your daughter was living; there was
therefore no other method to bring things to bear, but
by persuading you that she was dead. I prevailed on
your wife to join in the deceit, and we have not had a
fit opportunity of undeceiving you till now."
In the whole assembly there now appeared only
two faces glow with transport. Mr.
that did not
Thornhill's assurance had entirely forsaken him he ;
now saw the gulf of infamy and want before him, and
trembled to take the plunge. He therefore fell on
his knees, before his uncle, and in a voice of piercing
misery implored compassion. Sir William was going
;
to spurn him away, but at my request he raised him,

and after pausing a few moments, " Thy vices, crimes,
and ingratitude," cried he, " deserve no tenderness
yet thou shalt not be entirely forsaken —a bare
competence shall be supplied to support the wants of
life, but not its follies. This young lady, thy wife,
shall be put in possession of a third part of that for-
tune which once was thine, and from her tenderness
alone thou art to expect any extraordinary supplies
for the future." He was going to express his grati-
tude for such kindness in a set speech ; but the Bar-

onet prevented him, by bidding him not to aggravate
his meanness, which was already but too apparent.
He ordered him at the time to be gone, and from all
his former domestics to choose one, such as he should

think proper, which was all that should be granted to
attend him.
As soon as he left us Sir William very politely
stepped up to his new niece with a smile, and wished
her joy. His example was followed by Miss Wilmot
and her father. My wife too kissed her daughter
with much affection as, to use her own expression,
;
she was now made an honest woman of. Sophia and

Moses followed in turn, and even our benefactor
Jenkinson desired to be admitted to that honor. Our
seemed scarcely capable of increase. Sir
satisfaction
William, whose greatest pleasure was in doing good,
now looked round with a countenance open as the
sun, and saw nothing but joy in the looks of all, ex-
cept that of my daughter Sophia, who, for some rea-

";
sons we could not comprehend, did not seem perfectly

satisfied. "I think now," cried he, with a smile,
" that all the company except one or two seem per-
fectly happy. There only remains an act of justice
for me to do. You are sensible, sir," continued he,
turning to me, " of the obligations
we both owe Mr.
Jenkinson, and we should both re-
it is but just that
ward him for it. Miss Sophia will, I am sure, make
him very happy, and he shall have from me five hun-
dred pounds as her fortune : and upon this I am sure
they can live very comfortablyCome, together.
Miss Sophia, what say you to this match of my mak-
ing? Will you have him?" My poor girl seemed al-
most sinking into her mother's arms at the hideous
proposal. " Have him, sir !
" cried she faintly : "no,
sir, never." " What !
" cried he again, "not have Mr.
Jenkinson your benefactor, a handsome young fellow,
with five hundred pounds, and good expectations "
?
" I beg, sir," returned she, scarcely able to speak,

" that you '11 desist, and not make me so very
wretched." " Was ever such obstinacy known ?
cried he again, " to refuse a man whom the family

has such infinite obligations to, who has preserved
your sister, and who has five hundred pounds What, !
not have him " " No, sir, never," replied she angrily
!
" I 'd sooner die first." " If that be the case then,"
cried he, " if you will not have him —I think I must
have you myself." And so saying, he caught her to
his breast with ardor. " My loveliest, my most sen-
sible of girls," cried he, " how could you ever think
"
your own Burchell could deceive you, or that Sir

William Thornhill could ever cease to admire a mis-
tress that loved him for himself alone ? I have for
some years sought woman, who, a stranger to
for a
my fortune, could think that I had merit as a man.
After having tried in vain, even amongst the pert
and the ugly, how great at last must be my rapture
to have made a conquest over such sense and such
!
heavenly beauty
Then turning to Jenkinson :
" As I cannot, sir,
part with this young lady myself, for she has taken a
fancy to the cut of my face, all the recompense I can
make is to give you her fortune ; and you may call
upon my steward to-morrow for five hundred 23ounds."
Thus we had all our compliments to repeat, and Lady
Thornhill underwent the same round of ceremony
that her sister had done before. In the mean time,
Sir William's gentleman appeared to tell us that the
equipages were ready to carry us to the inn, where
everything was prepared for our reception. My wife
and I led the van, and left those gloomy mansions of
sorrow. The generous Baronet ordered forty pounds
to be distributed among the prisoners, and Mr. Wil-
mot, induced by his example, gave half that sum.
We were received below by the shouts of the villa-
gers, and I saw and shook by the hand two or three of
my honest parishioners, who were among the number.
They attended us to our inn, where a sumptuous en-
tertainment was provided, and coarser provisions were
distributed in great quantities among the populace.
After supper, as my spirits were exhausted by the

alternation of pleasure and pain which they had sus-
tained during the day, I asked permission to with-
draw ; and leaving the company in the midst of their
mirth, as soon as I found myself alone, I poured out
my heart in gratitude to the Giver of joy as well as
of sorrow, and then slept undisturbed till morning.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE CONCLUSION.
The next morning, as soon as I awaked, I found

my eldest son sitting by my bedside who came to
increase my joy with another turn of fortune in my
favor. First having released me from the settlement
that I had made the day before in his favor, he let
me know that my
merchant, who had failed in town,
was arrested Antwerp, and there had given up
at
effects to a much greater amount than what was due
to his creditors. My boy's generosity pleased me al-
most as much as this unlooked-for good fortune ; but

I had some doubts whether I ought in justice to ac-
cept his offer. "While I was pondering upon this, Sir

William entered my room, to whom I communicated
my doubts. His opinion was, that as my son was
already j)ossessed of a very affluent fortune by his
marriage, I might accej^t his offer without any hesita-
tion. His business, however, was to inform me that
he had the night before sent for the licenses, and ex-
pected them every hour, and he hoped I would not
refuse my assistance in making all the company
happy that morning. A footman entered while we
were speaking, to tell us that the messenger was re-
turned; and as I was by this time ready, I went down,

where I found the whole company as merry as afflu-
ence and innocence could make them. However, as
they were now preparing for a very solemn ceremony,
their laughter entirely displeased me. I told them of
the grave, becoming, and sublime deportment they
should assume upon this mystical occasion, and read
them two homilies, and a thesis of my own composing,
in order to prepare them. Yet they seemed per-
still
fectly refractory and ungovernable. Even as we were

going along to church, to which I led the way, all
gravity had quite forsaken them, and I was often

tempted to turn back in indignation. In church a
new dilemma arose, which promised no easy solution.
This was, which couple should be married first. My
son's bride warmly insisted that Lady Thornhill (that
was to be) should take" the lead ; but this the other
refused with equal ardor, protesting she would not be
The argument
guilty of such rudeness for the world.
was supported for some time between both with equal
obstinacy and good breeding. But as I stood all this
time with my book ready, I was at last quite tired of
the contest ; and shutting it, " I perceive," cried I,
" that none of you have a mind to be married, and I

think we had as good go back again ; for I suppose
there will be no business done here to-day." This
at once reduced them to reason. The Baronet and
his lady were first married, and then my son and his
lovely partner.
I had previously that morning given orders that a
17
coach should be sent for my honest neighbor Flambo-

rough and by which means, upon our re-
his family ;
turn to the inn, we had the pleasure of finding the

two Miss Flamboroughs alighted before us. Mr.
Jenkinson gave his hand to the eldest, and my son
Moses led up the other (and I have since found that
he has taken a real liking to the girl, and my consent
and bounty he shall have, whenever he thinks proper
to demand them). We were no sooner returned to
the inn, but numbers of my parishioners, hearing of
my success, came to congratulate me ; but among the
rest were those who rose to rescue me, and whom I
formerly rebuked with such sharpness. I told the
story to Sir William, my son-in-law, who went out
and reproved them with great severity, but finding
them quite disheartened by his harsh reproof, he gave
them half a guinea a piece to drink his health, and
raise their dejected spirits.
Soon after this we were called to a very genteel
entertainment, which was dressed by Mr. Thornhill's
cook. And it may not be improper to observe, with
respect to that gentleman, that he now resides, in
quality of companion, at a relation's house, being very
well liked, and seldom sitting at the side-table, except
when there is no room at the other ; for they make
no stranger of him. His time is pretty much taken
up in keeping his relation, who is a little melancholy,
in spirits, and in learning to blow the French horn.
My eldest daughter, however, still remembers him
with regret; and she has even told me, though I
make a great secret of it, that when he reforms she

may be brought to relent. But to return, for I am
not apt to digress thus when we were to sit down to
;
dinner our ceremonies were going to be renewed.

The question was, whether my eldest daughter, as be-
ing a matron, should not above the two young
sit
brides; but the debate was cut short by my son

George, who proposed that the company should sit
indiscriminately, every gentleman by his lady. This
was received with great approbation by all, excepting
my wife, who, I could perceive, was not perfectly sat-
isfied, as she expected to have had the pleasure of
sitting at the head of the table, and carving all the
meat for all thecompany. But, notwithstanding this,

it is impossible to describe our good humor. I can't
say whether we had more wit among us now than

usual ; certain we had more laughing, which
but I am
answered the end as well. One jest I particularly
remember old Mr. Wilmot drinking to Moses, whose
:
head was turned another way, my son replied,

" Madam, I thank you." Upon which the old gen-
tleman, winking upon the rest of the company, ob-
served, that he was thinking of his mistress ; at which
jest I thought the two Miss Flamboroughs would have
died with laughing. As soon as dinner was over, ac-
cording to my old custom, I requested that the table
might be taken away, to have the pleasure of seeing
all my family assembled once more by a cheerful fire-
side. My two little ones sat upon each knee, the rest
of the company by their partners. I had nothing
now on this side of the grave to wish for ; all my

cares were oyer ; my pleasure was unspeakable. It
now only remained, that my gratitude in good for-

tune should exceed my former submission in adver-
sity.
^\\'^^
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
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The Vicar of Wakefield. A Tale (IA Vicarofwakefield02gold)

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Book.

Sperate viiseri, cavete felices

There are a hundred faults in this thing, and a

drawn as ready to teach, and ready to obey ; as simple

of opulence and refinement, whom can such a charac-

with disdain from the simplicity of his country fire-

have been taught to deride religion, will laugh at one

whose chief stores of comfort are drawn from futurity.

Oliver Goldsmith and the Vicar of Wakefield vii

The Description of the Family of Wakefield, in which a Kin-

Family Misfortunes. — The Loss of Fortune only serves to in-

A Migration. — The Fortunate Circumstances of our Lives are

A Proof that even the Humblest Fortune may grant Happi-

A New and Great Acquaintance introduced. —

CHAPTER Yll. PAGE

A Town Wit described. — The Dullest Fellows may learn to

An Amour, which promises little Good Fortune, yet may be

Two Ladies of Great Distinction introduced. — Superior Finery

The Family endeavors to cope with their Betters. —The Mis-

dence to give Disagreeable Advice 80

Fresh Mortifications, or a Demonstration that Seeming Calam-

Scarcely any Virtue found to resist the Power of Long and

Offences are easily pardoned where there is Love at Bottom, 167

CHAPTER XXVI. page

A Reformation in the Jail. — To make Laws complete, they

garded by Heaven as Things merely in themselves trifling

To sit down to a classic, even in one's own lan-

that I speak mind trained upon a severe regi-

formal approach, and surprises the most modern-fed

of the period in which he wrote as one of formality,

Oliver Goldsmith, the son of a humble village

He had no advantages of birth other than the price-

of the " Deserted Village " and more minutely in the

look for genial surroundings to one afterward to be-

menial position, he had a brutal tutor, and after he

upon some forlorn beggar, whose misery made him

waiting for the necessary age at which he could

ships of his London life. When the two years were

the study of law, but the fifty pounds with which he

turned forgiven to his uncle's house. He had visions

tions remain of his life at Edinburgh ; three or four

that he was an inimitable teller of humorous stories

he spent his time in a happy-go-hickj fashion, wan-

which shines through his lightest writings. " The

declared, among Then, falling in with an

Goldsmith seemed always one of the open-handed^

and what is more, author of " Clarissa." From a

George Primrose's cousin to him, " this is indeed a

Then you will never do for a school. Have you got

it was indeed by the humblest entrance that Gold-

dependence upon the autocrats of the book trade.

more agreeable than the occupation of an usher in a

boarding-scliool, or the profession of a doctor without

members, was then without respect, socially, and at-

tended by all the meanness which springs from a false

ernment appointment as medical ofiicer at Coroman-

began to issue the true products of his genius. He

book which gave him a name, " An Enquiry into—

style was the music which he had never failed

to hear from boyhood. Style, bred of no special

ished by the varying fortune, which was moulding his

essays, prefaces, translations and the like quite be-

said to have been filled with mourners, the reverse of